


Your OnlyFan

by goddessofthundathighs, PrincessStevens



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Not Canon Compliant, OnlyFans, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:33:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 44,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23950120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessofthundathighs/pseuds/goddessofthundathighs, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessStevens/pseuds/PrincessStevens
Summary: Mahari Khamisi Owens is an undergraduate biology pre-med student with aspirations of becoming a neonatologist. Reserved, and a lover of all things anime, her junior year at Oakland University takes an interesting turn when she develops a crush on the Graduate Assistant for her least favorite class. Erik Stevens is charming and charismatic, but is harboring a secret that changes Hari’s entire perspective on him and awakens a side of her she never knew existed. Can she keep this secret or will the obsession consume her?
Relationships: Erik Killmonger/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 44





	1. Discovery

**Author's Note:**

> Aight. I said I wasn’t gone do this but here I am doing it. I made this post about two days ago because I saw it and was *ahem* affected. I told myself I wasn’t gone write this shit but @goddessofthundathighs suggested a collab and, well, I wasn’t gone turn that down lol. So here this shit is. 
> 
> Let me start by saying that, even though there will be plenty of smut in this fic, that will not be ALL this fic is about. I repeat: THIS WILL NOT BE ALL SEX! It was originally going to be mostly filth but when Vanity and I got the talking, backstory was born so you will have some veggies to go with your chicken and you will eat everything on your plate whether you like the shit or not! Lolol. So don’t be in my inbox crying about where the sex is. It will come with the natural progression of the story and more often then you’re probably thinking. 
> 
> Also, please note that this is an AU where N’Jobu nor T’Chaka never die so Killmonger is not an actual thing. However, Erik Stevens is still VERY MUCH the cocky, slightly aint shit nigga we have all come to love and lust over.
> 
> With that, Vanity and I are proud to present chapter one of this shit. We love it and I hope you do it.

**Y.OF. Chapter One: Discovery**

Thursdays were Mahari’s _favorite_ days. It wasn’t the fact that it was her last day of class for the week, nor did she care that it was payday. No, today was her anesthesiology and pain medicine class. And while the class was by far one of the _hardest_ she’d taken in her three years at Oakland University, it was absolutely the most pleasurable. 

Mahari grins at herself in the mirror, her green contacts popping against the brown of her skin, as she applies her favorite blush to her cheeks. The hours she’s spent watching Jackie Aina immaculately beat her face was paying off. Her makeup had never looked this good. Her mocha complexion looked perfectly even, the gold highlight on the bridge of her round nose and cupid’s bow of her full lips the perfect accents to her otherwise “bare” face. 

She looked good, she thought as she turned to inspect her winged liner and falsies. Good enough to catch the eye of a certain _someone_ she hoped.

The rose gold plated Apple Watch on her wrist, dinged gently, telling her that she had approximately twenty minutes to leave her apartment or she forfeited her spot at the front of the class.

“Shit,” she mutters, tossing her used brushes into her makeup bag to deal with later. 

The Codename: Kids Next Door theme song stops her briefly in her cleaning, her phone nearly vibrating off her makeup table. Rolling her eyes playfully, Mahari snatches the phone up, swiping to answer the incoming video call.

“Yes, Five?” she answers with a dry voice, wiping down her makeup area.

“Uh uh,” Sanaa calls out in disgust as she glides her Apple Pencil along her iPad. “That is no way to greet your lifelong best friend, Numba Three.”

_So sensitive._

Mahari bats her eyes comically, pouring a sickening amount of sweetness in her voice as she sits the phone down to turn towards her mirror.

“Hey dahling,” she drawls with emphasis. “What can I do for you this fine summa day?”

“You’re so full of shit,” Sanaa giggles.

“And that’s why you love me, bestie boo! What’s up? Shouldn’t you be in class?”

“I could ask you the saaame thang,” her best friend said, turning towards the camera. She leans back dramatically with a hand placed over her heart, eyes wide as saucers.“Well zaaaamn! Whooo the fuck is yooouuuuu?” 

Mahari ignores her, finishing her look with a swipe of her lip gloss. 

“You’re annoying as shit!” Mahari exclaims, tossing the lipgloss into her bag along with her AirPods case and pens.

“And you look good as shit. I see you out here with the Fenty Glossbomb. Skin all glowing and whatnot.” 

“Shuuut uuuppp! It’s not even like that, Five.”

“Uh, yeah it is. It’s most _definitely_ like that. You usually go to class in whatever anime t-shirt you woke up in. And that’s on a _good day_. Now you over here fluffing ya hair and doing makeup.” Sanaa leans close enough to the camera that Mahari was sure she was about to ask if she got games on her phone. All eyeballs and nose. “Who the _hell_ taught you how to put on lashes?”

“Youtube University,” Mahari proudly responds with a fake ghetto girl accent, complete with a lip smack and a Stallion-esque ‘ah’. 

“Okay, one: you are _not_ Meg, put ya tongue back in ya face. And for two, it’s Thursday. Tell Mistah Stevens I said ‘hiii.’”

”Good _bye_ , Naa.”

Sanaa laughed brightly. 

“Bye, Three. Smooches!”

Mahari spends a few more minutes separating her curls until her big orange and chocolate afro sat in place the way she liked. After triple-checking to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything, Mahari grabs her Louis Vuitton Neverfull, stuffs her feet into her platform Vans, and begins her trek to the biology building. If there’s a little more sway to her hips, well, that was on her. 

Mahari had just made it outside when she spotted a familiar face. David, an attractive yet slightly annoying fellow classmate stood to wait for her near the fountain in the middle of campus. David was nice enough, but Mahari couldn’t allow herself to see him as anything more than just a classmate. Still, he was persistent.

“Good afternoon, Hari,” David said cheerily when she got close enough, his smile as bright as the sun beating down on the lawn before them.

“Hey, D,” Hari smiles back. She took a few moments to drink him in. Tall, athletic build, deep chocolate skin, and a set of cinnamon-colored eyes that seemed to glow whenever she looked into them. Mahari is well aware that there were women who were just waiting to pounce on David, she, however, wasn’t one of them. While attractive, David also has narcissistic traits. He carries himself like a god amongst humans, and while there’s nothing wrong with being confident, there’s only so much one can take of such an attitude.

“Did you watch Shippuden last night? That is your favorite anime, right?”

“I like it, but it’s not my favorite. I’m a Machiko and Hatchin girl.”

David rubbed the back of his head nervously. The truth is, he didn’t care for anime at all and hearing her talk about it sounded as though she were speaking another language. He was only pretending to be interested for a chance to go out with her, a fact Mahari became hip to early on in their relationship.

“You look really pretty today,” he deflects as a means of changing the subject. 

“Thank you,” she grins as she glances down at her choice of attire for the day. A pair of high waisted jeans with completely destroyed knees and a crop top graphic tee. Her big bamboo earrings that jingle lightly in her ears with every step matched the layers of bracelets on her wrist. It was understated in the way that looks like you didn’t actually try but still bold enough to catch some attention. 

Even the unwanted kind.

The pair made small talk as they walked across the campus to class. 

“Soooo,” he starts when they make it inside the cool building. “You give that invitation any thought?”

Mahari only just manages not to roll her eyes. The Alpha Block Party. Or, as the school was deeming it, Thee Party of Thee Semester. David has been poking her gently about going since they’d met on the first day of class. Promising that she’d get in for free and personally make sure her cup was never empty. From the whispers she’s heard around campus, it seems like anybody who is anybody was going to the event. But Mahari was a nobody. And that was fine with her. 

“Yeah, I don’t think I’m going, D,” she mumbles, going over to find her usual seat in the front and dead center of the lecture hall. Pulling out her favorite notebook and fluffy purple pen. 

“C’moooon, Hari.” David persists, sounding entirely like a whining four-year-old. “You don’t never do anything fun.”

Hari looks at him like he had worms coming from his nose. How dare he say she doesn’t do anything fun? 

“You don’t know my life, David,” Mahari quietly fumes at his audacity, before she turns away with her nose raised slightly higher. “Have fun at your lil party, but I respectfully decline.”

David throws his hands up in defeat, still choosing to occupy the vacant seat beside her. But to Mahari, he was as good as invisible. She watched the clock with eager eyes, impatiently awaiting the arrival of her favorite fixture on the entire OU campus. The room begins to quickly fill as the seconds trickle by. Mahari waves at a few familiar faces and mentally goes over her lecture notes as if she didn’t have them memorized. Seconds quickly turned into an alarming amount of minutes and when neither the professor nor graduate assistant walked in, a sign-in sheet started to circulate around the hall.

“No no,” Mahari whispered to herself. This couldn’t be happening. She had been waiting for this since the last time she’d had this class on Tuesday. There was no fucking way she wasn’t going to scratch this itch. 

“Sorry about my lateness,” came the familiar, rich baritone.

Mahari’s heart stops when he steps foot into the classroom. His attire today is casual. A lightweight oatmeal-colored Henley pulls across his chest and shoulders enticingly, his sleeves bunched up around his elbows, and layered over his olive cargo pants. The fossil colored Nike x Stussy Air Zooms on his feet pulling the ensemble together.

His signature wide-legged gait captures the attention of every girl in class. Hari grips the edge of the folding tablet in front of her, bottom lip caught tightly between her teeth, barely catching herself just as the drool was about to slide down her chin.

This man was a _god_. 

“Good morning, class. Dr. Watson is out sick, so I’ll be giving the lecture today,” Erik announces as he sits his heavy legal pad on the table to adjust the gold rims on his face. His freshly retwisted locs dangle over his left eye and she can just see the top of his Cuban link kissing his neck before it disappears under his shirt.

“Thank god for small miracles,” Mariah calls out from the back, making the entire class laugh. “Don’t get me wrong, the old man is knowledgeable but boring as all hell. And you easy on the eyes, so.”

A chorus of “mm-hmms” rang out around them turning Erik’s smile slightly wolfish. 

Mahari’s body clenches tightly at the sight of those deep dimples he rarely showed. She coughs lightly to cover her reaction. Crossing her legs like a tight pretzel, jostling her desk and making her notebook fall to the ground. 

“Crap!”

“Aight, settle down,” Erik calls out, rounding the large desk to stand before Mahari. The gentle notes of his cologne stretched out towards her as he bent down, picking up the notebook. 

The urge to snatch the it back from him bubbles up inside of her as she watches him study the cover curiously for a few moments. Although anime nine times out of ten wasn’t meant for children, it could still be perceived as childish to watch cartoons at her age if you didn’t know what it was. And Erik didn’t look like the type to watch anime. At all.

“Michiko Malandro,” he says slowly, looking back into her now shocked eyes. “Nice choice.”

Mahari’s throat is dry and the “thank you” she manages to squeak out is weak, but Erik only nods once more before going back over to the desk.

This attractive nigga was a low key weeb? Just light her panties on fire now, please. 

“We ain’t doing nothing different,” he announces and flips a few pages on his notepad. “Open your text to chapter six. I hope y’all did the reading.”

Quickly and with slightly shaking hands, Mahari pulls the PDF up on her iPad. The chapter Principles of Fluid Management and Stewardship in Septic Shock opening immediately as it was bookmarked. 

“In patients with septic shock,” Erik began, “the administration of fluids during initial hemodynamic resuscitation remains a major therapeutic challenge. We are faced with many open questions regarding the type, dose, and timing of intravenous fluid administration.”

Mahari blinks rapidly at him. Although paraphrased, Erik was actively reciting the chapter before them completely from memory. His eyes floating around the class, honing in on a few students as he continued. 

“There are only four major indications for intravenous fluid administration. Aside from resuscitation, intravenous fluids have many other uses including maintenance and replacement of total body water and electrolytes, as carriers for medications and for parenteral nutrition. In this paradigm-shifting review, we discuss different fluid management strategies including early adequate goal-directed fluid management, late conservative fluid management, and late goal-directed fluid removal.”

Gobsmacked and only just slightly turned on, Mahari is ashamed to admit she zones out. Her eyes follow as he paces the stage in front of them, taking in minute details. The way he paused to lick his lips, his gesticulations, and the almost lazy way he speaks on this immensely dense and difficult topic. As if he was giving instructions on how to build a paper airplane. She almost fanned herself. It no longer felt like she was sitting in a lecture hall but rather watching the most soothing ASMR videos. 

_He should do YouTube_ , she thought with a dreamy sigh. _He’d have millions of followers._

“Ms. Owens.” 

Wait…that was _her_ name. 

Savanna, another classmate, nudges her gently, breaking her out of her stupor. And David leans forward into her view. 

“You good?” he mouths. 

“Uhh,” she stutters out before her gaze sweeps back over to Erik. He’s looking at her expectantly but there’s a hint of a smile dancing in his eyes. 

“Yes?” she asks after a deep swallow.

“I said there are four phases that should be considered when treating patients with septic shock,” he said slowly, patiently. “Can you name them for the class?”

“Resuscitation, optimization, stabilization, and evacuation,” she answers swiftly and without much thought. Thank _goodness_ she read the text.

“Correct,” Erik smiles fully at her, the gold caps of his bottom canines shining brightly. “And those phases bring their own questions.” He stepped forward, his gaze fully locked on her as he spoke. “’When to start intravenous fluids?’, ‘When to stop intravenous fluids?’, ‘When to start de-resuscitation or active fluid removal?’ and finally ‘When to stop de-resuscitation?’" 

Mahari could feel her heart beating through every extremity in her body. The steadiest in a place it really shouldn’t have been considering the audience she could garner. Suddenly she was hot, like wearing a leather jacket in the summertime hot. She wishes for a second he wasn’t looking at her so intently. 

As if hearing her thoughts, Erik turns back to address the class. 

“In analogy to the way we handle antibiotics in critically ill patients, it is time for fluid stewardship.”

* * *

“Hey Mr. Stevens,” Hari calls out to him once the lecture is over. She had tucked into her iPad to follow the reading after the nearly embarrassing incident. Taking copious notes and highlighting patches of text to revisit later. But she had a question or three for the Graduate Assistant. 

“Got a second?” 

He flashes her a closed mouth smirk before beckoning her over to the desk with his hand.

“For my _favorite_ student? Always.” Mahari’s easily manipulated heart gives a few heavy beats. “What can I do for you, Ms. Owens?” 

Mahari bit her lip and collected her things, walking gingerly over to the desk and, by extension, the object of her recent nocturnal emission. 

“Uhm,” she says, tucking her chin into her chest a little. “About the assignment for next Tuesday.”

Erik pulls a disbelieving face. 

“With all due respect, Ms. Owens, I’m sure you of all people understand the material covered,” he spoke slowly. “I think your quick answer after you were caught zoning out today is a testament to that.” Erik cocked his head to the side. “Don’t you think?”

Heat rose to her cheeks at the realization that she wasn’t as stealth with her lusty gaze as she thought. But she pressed on.

“I mean yeah, but I still need some extra assistance,” she pressed. “I work the midnight shift tonight at the library. Maybe we can meet up and discuss it then?” Hari’s eyebrows raised with hope. She’d never shot her shot with anyone before and she was hoping for net.

To his credit, Erik at least looked as if he was considering the idea.

“I would,” he said with a lick of his heavy bottom lip, “ buuut I have a prior engagement.”

Fuck! Airball.

Though internally defeated, Hari kept her face neutral.

“That’s fine, I’ll try to figure something out.”

“You could always email me your questions. I’ll get to them either tonight or tomorrow. Aight?”

She beamed a megawatt smile at him. Even though she didn’t honestly have any questions, she could always think some up. Anything to make conversation with this fine ass nigga. And who knows, maybe she could ask for his number down the line. If she could be so bold. 

“Aight,” she said back. “I’ll email you.”

“Cool.” 

Mahari stood there for a few more seconds. Shifting foot to foot trying to think of something, anything else to say before her Apple Watch pinged again, signifying she needed to head to her next lecture. 

“Well, thanks,” she said, hiking her bag higher on her shoulder and turning towards the door. “See you, Tuesday, Mr. Stevens.”

“Yeah, have a good weekend, Mahari.”

She bit her lip so she wouldn’t squeal at hearing him say her name. 

“You too, Erik.”

* * *

As Mahari walks away, Erik can’t help but notice the extra sway in her hips as she exits the classroom. He could feel her eyes on him the entire lecture, so he took advantage, flashing her a smile here and there just to see her flush. He thought she was cute, and a bit of a loner, much like the character on her beloved notebook. Though she didn’t outwardly act like it, he could tell there was some freak in that geek.

“She gone be a problem,” he mutters to himself, gathering his things to prepare for the next lecture. Fucking one of his students wasn’t something that he was going to entertain, even if she’s only a few years younger.

The notification tone pulls his attention to his phone, where he discovers ten new subscriptions to his OnlyFans. The account was something that he kept private, not wanting to jeopardize the career he was working so hard on building. He came from a fairly well off family, so it wasn’t like he needed the money. In actuality, he had a voyeurism kink, and the thought of someone watching while he pounds some poor girl’s cervix gets him harder than Chinese arithmetic.

The account was actually the reason he was late. The upload of his daily video had taken longer than expected. Usually, he would put it off and wait until class was over. But the longer he stared at the screengrab, and image of Amber’s face right after he’d finished on it - his thick nut and her spit slowly gliding down her chin and neck and her blissed-out face - the more he knew he had to share it with the world. Class be damned. 

As he scrolls through the new thirsties, he secretly hopes one of them is Mahari, but unfortunately, he’s met with another batch of anonymous randoms.

“I _knew_ you was a freak!” someone exclaims behind him, startling him slightly.

He turns slightly to find Mariah basically over his shoulder.

“Ms. Sutton,” he addresses the snoop, locking his phone. “I thought you’d left already.”

“No, I hung back after Mahari to ask a question about the lecture, but then I caught a glimpse of your OnlyFans.” she licked her lips. “I knew you was nasty, but I didn’t know it was like _that_.”

“Girl mind yo business,” he responds coolly, sliding his phone back into his pocket. “You want me to answer ya question or you tryna be my next co-star?” He sees her face flush and adds a wink for extra emphasis.

“You know what, I’m late for class. I’ll just email Dr. Watson, but thank you,” she calls over her shoulder as she briskly exits the classroom.

“Mmhm…I ain’t the one to play with, lil girl,”

His phone dings once again and he fishes it out. A grin spreading wide on his lips. 

_Yea, where u tryna meet up?_

It looks like he didn’t have to lie to lil Ms. Owens after all. But maybe he _could_ pop in and see her.

* * *

The meatball sub in Mahari’s hand tastes damn near like steak. And she stuffs it into her face like it is one. Sauce covering the side of her cheek as she juggles eating, walking, and telling Sanaa just how much she had bombed in asking Erik out. 

“He turned me down,” she relays around a mouthful of beef and cheese.

“Okay, I _know_ how dramatic yo ass is,” Sanaa says from her side of the phone. “When you say ‘turned you down’ what _exactly_ do you mean?”

Mahari would have rolled her eyes but it wasn’t worth bumping into someone. Or potentially losing her dinner. 

“ _Meaning_ I shot my shot and he turned me down. Can you _please_ keep up with the program.”

Sanaa sucks her teeth, long and loud. 

“Look here you virgin ass hoe!” she yells directly into her phone’s microphone. 

“Bitch! Must you be so damn loud?” Hari’s immensely glad she has her Airpods in. No one needed to know her sexual status.

“Yes! Need I remind you that even _Jordan_ didn’t make 100% of his shots and that nigga is a billionaire and arguably one of the greatest players to ever do it? Try again, boo.”

“Now you _know_ I don’t know sports like that,” Mahari says just to annoy her best friend. 

“Bitch!” 

“Okay okay,” she laughs before sighing. “You have a point, but you only go after someone like him _once_. The second time might be even more embarrassing,” she shudders.

Sanaa sighs deeply. 

“Remember Mark from 9th grade?” she asks. “And what happened when I first tried to approach him?”

Thinking back, Mahari giggles at the memory. 

“Yeah, you tripped on air and busted your face on the locker next to his,” she snickers. Ain’t no way she was gone forget that.

“Right!” Sanaa joins her in laughing. “He was the finest, _richest_ nigga in high school and I literally _bled_ trying to talk to him.”

“Yes,” Hari cringes. “And I walked you to the nurse’s office.”

“Yup, and the nigga was my boyfriend literally two months later. Because I what?” her friend prompts.

“You stalked him around the school until he basically couldn’t avoid you anymore.”

“ _No_ ,” Sanaa corrects. “I tried again.”

“ _Yes_ , by stalking him ar-”

“The _point_ is,” Sanaa interrupts, “I shot a few more airballs before I got all net. What you did was barely dribbling. _Try again_.”

“I am _not_ stalking this nigga.”

“I sweatergod, Three. I’ma box you across the forehead.”

“Aight, chill,” Mahari says as she tosses away her wrapper and pulls the heavy double door of the library open. “I have a plan anyway. I’m not giving up.”

“Yeah?” her friend asks, intrigued. “Lil Hari got a plan to seduce her sensei?”

“Maybe,” Hari hedges as she reaches the customer service desk. She waves at Oaklyn to let her know she’s arrived. “But I’ll have to tell you later. I just got to work.”

“Uggghhhh,” Sanaa groans comically. “ _Fine_. I need to finish this piece anyway. Call you tomorrow.”

“Mmhmm. Don’t be up all night, girl. You got class in the morning.”

“Yes, momma. I know. Love you.”

“Love you too,” she replies before hanging up to walk behind the desk. 

“I absolutely _love_ when you relieve me. You the only one who comes on time,” Oaklyn tells her with a smile. 

“I gotchu. I know how much it sucks waiting for relief after a long ass shift.”

“Yess,” her coworker says as she gathers her things. “It’s gone be a slow night. Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

Mahari situates her space to her liking and goes to make some coffee. The work-study program was a godsend but the hours sometimes aren’t the. At least she could use the time to do her homework. 

“C’mon three am,” she says to the nearly empty library. The five hours couldn’t slip by fast enough.

* * *

Mahari sat curled up behind the service desk of the library, her nose deep in a copy of Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood she was rereading for the fifth time. She enjoyed working the midnight shift, the peace and quiet of the library bringing calm to her typically racing mind.

She just reaches one of her favorite parts, where Edward see Alfonse standing in front of his truth’s door, when a hand comes down on the page, pushing the book to the table gently.

“What the fu-”

“Ooh, someone has a potty mouth,” Erik smirks, those gold slugs commanding Hari’s undivided attention.

She stares at him for a moment, mouth agape, looking every bit like a goldfish out of water before she pulls the book out from under him with a huff.

“Shut up, _liar_ ,” she finally squeals once her brain signals begin functioning again. And take in the man before her. He looks the most relaxed she’s ever seen him. Donning a pair of grey basketball shorts, and his black OU Grizzlies crewneck, he could easily be mistaken for an undergrad student and not the hot as all fuck GA. Even though…he was still hot as all fuck.

The man leans against the counter in front of her, bending slightly until they were eye to eye. Mahari stands her ground though, the scowl never slipping off her face. Even when the light on her desk catches on the diamonds in his ears, nearly blinding her.

“ _And_ feisty. Who knew meek lil Khalessi had it in her,” he snickers.

“Whatever,” she quips as she glances at the time. 2:02 am. Why was he even here? “First of all, it’s _Khamisi_. Second of all, didn’t you say you had a _prior_ engagement?”

“I do.”

As if on cue, a cocoa goddess with hips as wide as this nigga’s lips enters the library. Her long goddess braids were pulled into a loose ponytail while the black bodycon dress she wore barely covered her curves. Hari could’ve sworn she saw the apples of her ass cheeks when she passed the desk on her journey to the elevator.

“Wassup, C?” Erik says, eyes roving over her body slowly. 

Jealousy spikes in Mahari’s gut but she can’t blame Erik for his reaction. She isn’t gay, not in the slightest but she could appreciate a woman’s physique. And this girl has an amazing one. 

“Wassup E?” She calls back, a knowing smirk on her face. “You ready?”

Erik nods once before turning back to Mahari, flashing her a near panty wetting smile. 

“Sorry to end this meeting so soon, but my _prior engagement_ is here. Have a good night, Mahari Khalessi.”

“ _Khamisi_!” she fires back making him laugh and wave without looking. 

All Hari can do is watch him walk over to the bank of elevators. Neither one had anything that signified they were going to study. Erik only held a small black bag in his hand and there was no way there were any school materials in it. 

It’s long after the elevator doors close, but she finds herself still looking at the area in bewilderment. Puzzled at why Erik was in the Library at this hour and who the girl could be. She had never seen her on campus. She would remember someone like that. So maybe a student from a nearby school? Merrit? It wouldn’t be the first time that a student from the community college had come to use their facilities. 

Ultimately though, Mahari shrugs it off and begins to pack her things. Her shift was almost over. 

With an exaggerated yawn, Hari drops her book into her bag and stands up to stretch her tired legs and arms. Her back pops loudly in a few places from being hunched over the desk for too long. 

“Ugh.”

“Damn, someone is sleepy,” Aaron calls out as he comes around the desk. He was ten minutes early. Thank god. 

“Yesss. I love these shifts but I had a full day of classes. It’s catching up to me.”

“I know, which is why I’m relieving you early. My brother is outside, he’ll walk you to your dorm.”

“I could _kiss_ you right now,” she laughs, pulling him in for a hug instead. Aaron’s older brother, Andre, was captain of the Student Patrol on campus and always makes it a point to wait for her anytime their schedules overlap. While there aren’t many cases of assault on campus, you could never be too cautious. 

“And I would absolutely take you up on that offer if I was single,” he chuckles. “Get out of here. Make it home safe.”

With a final smile, Hari starts her trek to her dorm. As she walks towards the entrance, her mind drifts back to Erik and the thicc mama he affectionately referred to as ‘C’. She realizes that the pair never came back downstairs and temptation almost pulls her back inside.

“You ready to go, Hari?” Andre calls, holding the door for her to exit. She nods, choosing sleep over nosiness. Whatever Erik and C had going on was none of her business. 

* * *

Mahari’s fantabulous self-care day was in full swing. All of her homework was completed so she decides to use the day to give herself a mani/pedi, deep dive into her skincare routine, and wash her hair. Which leaves her on the couch, her hair in a towel turban, homemade kiwi mask on her face, in her favorite oversized Sailor Moon sweatshirt scrolling through Twitter. 

In reality, she should be sending out the list of questions she’d composed over breakfast out to a certain someone, but she was enjoying herself and her time without her mind clouding over with thoughts of _him_. 

It was bad enough that she’d dreamt of him. _Again._

So, Mahari dedicates a few moments to the barely used app. She scrolls through the trending topics and other humdrum posts, laughing at black twitter, and navigating the not so savory pictures on her feed before a few comments caught her eye.

_“Yoooo, niggas is wylin’!”_

_“Is that the chair from the 3rd-floor study room at OU?”_

_“That’s my kind of studying! (insert tongue out emoji)”_

Curiosity finally gets the best of Hari, prompting her to click on the video attached to the tweet that had since earned 1.2K retweets and over 5K replies. She tries to convince herself that the only reason she was even entertaining this nonsense was due to the location potentially being her place of work. But as the video loads and she takes in the sight and sounds before her, she knows that is complete horse shit. 

Mahari’s mouth drops as she watches the illicit scene play out. The pair are up against the wall. From the way the camera is angled, the viewer can't see anything higher than the couples' lips. But Mahari ain't even looking at all that. Her eyes are glued to the sight of the man's long, condom covered dick stroking the woman with skill and precision. From the state of her pussy, swollen, and damn near drooling, she knows that this has to be in the middle of the video. She can't look away as the mystery man continues to plunge himself deeper into the woman’s forbidden fruit, his deep, lust-filled voice sent a knowing chill down Hari’s spine.

_“You like that, don’t you Pretty Girl?”_

_“Yes, Daddy,” the woman struggles out._

Mahari isn’t completely a virgin. She’s seen plenty of porn before. On the internet and most recently, in her wild imagination. But the image before her is different for some reason. She watches the preview a handful of times, nearly having the actions and voices committed to memory before it dawns on her just why this was different. It was the man’s voice. She could swear she knew it from somewhere. 

That smooth baritone fills her up like caramel, sticking to every nook and cranny of her mind. And reminds her of…

Pain medicine?

Mahari’s eyes widen as she pulls the phone so close to her face that the movement is blurred. That chair in the corner, the same color blue as the chairs in the private rooms of the library that is _only_ accessible from the elevators she sits right in front of. 

The elevator “Ms. C’s” hips swayed towards the night before. 

So that meant….

No.

It couldn’t be.

_“Erik?”_


	2. Obsession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO! Look who’s back so ghatdamn soon lol. Itsa meeee. MARRIOOOOO! JK. Me and @goddessofthundathighs are back giving yall another juicy chapter of this shit here. Lemme tell yall, for all the haters out there, I am here to proudly announce that I have done it. That’s right. I have written: Thee Smuts. I wanna thank my mama for having me, Erik for getting my juices flowing, my vibrator for seeing me through on my lonley nights, and Vanity for writing most of it SKSKSKSKSS. That’s right bitches and bitchettes! ASHLEY WRITES FUCKING SMUT. HAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! This has a lot of plot too though lol. Just think of it as a juicy triple decker sandwich. With a side of Erik’s long, hot, drippin. AHEM! 
> 
> Hope you like it. :)

It dawns on Mahari that the only way to confirm whether or not this is indeed her favorite graduate assistant is to actually watch one of the videos in its entirety. Which means that she is going to have to actually visit his OnlyFans. Although she’s heard _plenty_ about the website, she has never actually used it. Her thoughts immediately jump to Sanaa who follows quite a few people on the platform before she shakes that thought completely. On the one hand, if she is correct, she doesn’t want too many people figuring out who he is. From the way the video was shot, Mahari has her suspicious that _Mr. Stevens_ was actively keeping his identity a secret. So she would do her part in helping him with that endeavor. On the _other_ hand, if Mahari is wrong and she shares this information with Five, her best friend will never let her hear the end of it. 

_“You so desperate to see this nigga naked, you out here following his dopplegangers? Just ask to suck his dick and **go**! Gosh!”_

Mahari cringes. Yeah, better to be safe than sorry. So, she clicks the link, ready to get her Inspector Gadget juices - and probably some others - flowing. 

Being the noob that she is, she wasn’t aware that she needed a subscription before continuing.

“$15.99?! This nigga smoking dicks!” she fusses in her best Soulja Boy voice. He’s fine, but not _$15.99 for a 30 day subscriptio_ n fine.

 _But you spend $15.99 in one sitting at the grill,_ her conscious reasons.

“That’s not the point, dammit!” she screams to no one in particular.

After pacing her living room for what seemed like ages, she finally bites the bullet and grabs her wallet.

“Every one of this nigga’s videos better be at least five minutes long or we squaring the fuck up,” she fumes once her information is entered. She bypasses the prompt to create a full profile, opting to remain User02091987 until her assumptions are confirmed. 

“ _Black Mamba?!_ I know this nigga ain’t disgracing Kobe’s name like this,” Hari chuckles with a shake of her head. She scrolls down the page, checking out the number of likes, comments, and tips he has before scrolling back to the reason she was on the site in the first place. 

“Only _one_ video and I’m gone,” she promises herself. Knowing full well that she’s more than likely lying.

Her mouth gapes as his lust laced baritone fills her ears. She cursed herself for watching the video with her Airpods in, allowing the sounds of sex to consume her. Mahari is nearly in a trance-like state as C’s hips clap back against Erik’s waist. This obviously wasn’t their first time together, you could tell by the way their bodies moved in synchronicity. From what she could see from the dim lighting of the study room, he was big. Like horses are his next of kin big, and Hari’s eyes grew wide with how well C was taking him.

_“Arch that shit deeper,” he commands, pushing his hands down on the small of her back. His stance widening as he lengthens his strokes. “Arch it!”_

_“Ah, fuck Daddy,” C responds, leaning forward and bowing deeper as instructed._

_“There you fucking go. Good girl.”_

“Jesus Javonte H. Christ the Third,” Mahari whispers, eyes glued to the scene. Somewhere deep in her spirits she knew this nigga was nasty. But the aggression in his tone and the nearly deafening way he’s clapping into C throws her off anyway. She doesn’t know if the feeling rolling around in her belly is of jealousy or concern for the girl’s cervix. Or horniness. Her panties were damper than they were a few moments before. 

_“Daddy, I’m cumming,” C whines as Erik continues his assault on her gspot._

_“Are you asking or are you telling me, Blossom?”_

“Who the f _uck_ is Blossom? I thought this bitch’s name was C,” Hari thinks aloud before one of C’s moans pulls her attention back to her phone screen.

_“Daddy…Can I cum, please?”_

_“Nah, hold dat shit…”_

“Hold it?!” Mahari exclaims. “You can do that?!”

_“Uhn, fuck!” C whines. “Please.”_

_“Mmm, Daddy loves when you beg, Blossom. Say it again.”_

All of Mahari’s muscles clench. Her mouth opening, ready to speak like he’d say it to her. 

_“Daddy please,” C pleads again, a powerful orgasm looming just below the surface of her belly._

_“One last time.”_

_“I’m so close,” she sounds close to tears, her legs visibly shaking as she continues to meet him. Trust for trust._

_“Cum for Daddy, Blossom. Make a mess on this dick,” Erik growls._

_On command, a river erupts from between C’s thighs as she squirts on his lap. Her essence traveling down his strong, muscular thighs, collecting in a pool between his feet. C’s body collapses against the table that Erik has her bent forward on and the last thing Hari sees is him slapping his heavy dick on her clit before she reaches her breaking point._

_“Such a good girl,” he coaxes, sliding back in balls deep._

“Uh uh, I gotta go,” Hari exclaims, exiting the video and clearing her browser history. No one needed to know what she had seen or the images her mind was producing in full HD, surround sound. She’s entirely too worked up and, if she stays in the house after watching that, she’s going to do something she shouldn’t.

“Let me go clean myself up and hit the damn gym. I need to work this off,” she says, dragging herself to her bathroom with a fresh pair of underwear and her workout gear.

Fridays were usually her days to work out anyway, as most of the campus population went home for the weekend. So she could get in and get out in under an hour. 

Opting to jog to the gym as a means of getting her blood flowing, her twerk playlist plays loudly in her ears as her feet rhythmically hit the pavement. Her heart rate is accelerated, 128 BPM, but she has no idea if it’s because of the scene from before or the cardio. Either way, her muscles are pleasantly warm and ready to work. Cool breeze feeling wonderful as it kisses her cheeks and forehead in gentle sweeps.

Slowing down as she reaches the rec center, Mahari opens up her fitness app to select a workout. It has been a few days since she’s done any upper back so that was the mood for the day. She’s stacking exercises, getting ready to pull open the door in front of her, when she runs into what can only be described as a softly padded, warm brick wall. 

“Oof!” she exclaims. The momentum of the crash sends her stumbling back, arms spiraling as she nearly falls on her ass before a pair of strong arms catch her, righting her on her feet. Her eyes shot up, lips ready to cuss out whoever had gotten in her way when she froze. 

_“Erik?”_

This could _not_ be happening.

“Ms. Owens,” he says with a smile like the situation was funny. “You really need to start looking where you’re going.”

Of all the people she could run into, it had to be this nigga and it had to be now. The sound of his voice triggered flashbacks of the way he absolutely wrecked C’s body in the library not even 24 hours before, and she didn’t need those feelings right now.

“Sorry,” she squeaks, her voice a lot quieter than she intends.

He licked those full lips and flashed his signature panty wetting smile.

“It’s cool,” he replies as he looks her up and down, taking in her outfit. “What you finna work on?”

“Huh?” 

“You going to the gym, right? Or are you one of those girls who wears gym clothes for the hell of it?”

“Actually, I just remembered that I never emailed you those questions. I’ma go work on those.”

Erik pulls a face.

“You can send them later.” He smirks, reaching back to open the door. “You wanna work out together? I’m sure I can show you a lil more than you’re used to doing.”

 _You already have_ , her brain quips with another flash of earlier. Mahari shakes her head vehemently. There was no way in fuck she was about to watch this man get sweaty while grunting. She would not survive that shit.

“N-nah, it’s actually kinda crowded in there and I like to work out in peace.”

Erik peers into the gym window, not believing her.

“There’s all of three people in there, Khaleesi,” he teases.

Face crumpling into anger and embarrassment forgotten, Mahari steps forward to poke him in the chest. 

“Nigga! Say it with me, Kha-mi-si! Aggy ass!”

Erik laughs deeply, gripping the hand she was attacking him with in his much bigger one and tugging her towards the doors. 

“Aight, I heard you. C’mon.”

“I said no, Erik.”

He puts his hands up in defeat slowly, grin still firmly on his face.

“Aight, aight chill. You ain’t gotta send the dragons after me,” he teases again.

Mahari rolls her eyes so hard she nearly loses her contacts. 

“Uh-huh. You’ll have your email in an hour.”

His mouth stretches into a wide smile. 

“ _Bye Hari._ ”

“Bye nigga.”

Mahari jogs away from his chuckle annoyed. She’d have to come up with plan b. After she emails the fool.

* * *

“You wanna watch the next episode or you going to get food?” 

Mahari blinks her drying eyes at that, Sanaa’s face coming into focus. Currently, the pair are about two hours deep in their usual Saturday afternoon Facetime session. The ending theme song to _Black Clover_ plays in the background. But even that couldn’t drown out the loud gurgle Hari’s stomach gives at the mere mention of food. 

Suddenly it’s raining purple and blue throw pillows, a result of Sanaa having fallen back on her bed in a fit of giggles. 

“Yeah,” she says after a few moments, catching her breath. “You need to go feed the beast, Three.”

“Ugh, fiiiiineee. I think I have some leftover sashimi in the back of my fridge somewhere.”

“Now you and I both know yo ass gone be on the toilet twenty minutes after eating that shit,” Sanaa reminds her with a few more chuckles. “Why don’t you order from Lena’s? You know she gone hook you up.”

Saliva fills Mahari’s mouth instantly. It has been a minute since she’d had her fried chicken platter. She could almost taste the honeyed cornbread melting on her tongue now. 

“See, this why I keep you around, Five,” she says as she pulls up Postmates. 

“Wow. Because I remind you to eat? Not because I’ve known you since diapers or some shit.”

“Love youuuuu.”

“Uh-huh,” Sanaa says with a roll of her eyes. “You going to that party next week?”

Mahari’s thumbs froze. David hadn’t been the only one applying the pressure to her about being more social. Sanaa had been telling her since she had started school that she needed to branch out more. Stating that she worried about her being a recluse. It wasn’t that Mahari was afraid of meeting people or making new friends. People just annoyed the fuck out of her. Especially college people. She preferred to keep to herself than go out and entertain people who pretended to be the people that didn’t even like them. Imposter syndrome was real and rampant out in these Oakland streets. 

“You mean today?” she asked with a conversational tone. 

“…Huh!?” her best friend exclaimed after a preface of silence. “Holon, wayment. You mean that shit is _today_ and you sitting in the house watching anime with me with Cheez Itz on ya tiddies?”

Mahari glances down at her chest and sure enough, there are remnants of her favorite afternoon snack on her chest. She clicks back over to their video call with a grin. 

“They nice tiddies.”

“That is beside the damn point.”

“So I’m sitting here, right. Cheeze Itz on my tiddies.” 

“Bitch if you don’t go get _dressed_.”

“I’m not going,” Mahari nearly pouts. 

A smack rang through the air as Sanaa palmed her face aggressively. 

“Why _not_?”

“Because David called me boring.”

“Because you are boring, hoe.”

 _Ouch?_ Honestly speaking though, she saw that coming. 

“Wow, thanks Five. Let me go get my old ass in this bed. Maybe quilt a sweater or some shit.”

“That shit betta not be itchy either!”

Hari flips her the bird before sitting her MacBook Air on the bed as she rolls over to get up. 

“And for the love of God, wash the Cheez It dust off ya tiddy!” Sanaa calls after her.

“Yes, ma!”

Trudging over to her closet for something to wear, she pushes passed the maxi dresses and skirts. It was warm out today but that didn’t mean that nigga deserved to see her in that state. The pinch was sacred and none of these niggas would see it from _her_. 

“Good. Put that grey jumper on. It brings ya ass out.”

Hari’s hands were actually hovering over that exact piece of clothing. Sanaa was right, it did make her ass look perky.  
  


“I hate you so much,” Mahari mutters, pulling it off the hanger and turning towards the bathroom.

“Mwah. I’ll be here when you get out.”

“Mmmhmm.”

The shower, while not long as she would like, was still very languid. Mahari indulges herself in the short time. Lathering her Rose de Grasse body wash over her skin before sealing it with some Tom Ford body oil. She may not come from wealth, but her mother has taught her the value in splurging in the right things to make her feel more elevated. Skin care being one of them. 

She steps out the bathroom fully dressed close to twenty minutes later after brushing her teeth and washing her face once more. 

“You finna beat that face again?” Sanaa teases not even looking up from where she’s once again drawing. The girl had the nerve to call her a workaholic. 

“Mind ya business,” Mahari tosses even as she sits down in front of her vanity. She’s proud to say she breezes through her everyday face with ease. 

“I haven’t washed my hair so it’s going in a ponytail,” Hari fusses, throwing on her OVO dad hat.

“Don’t forget ya glasses, old lady!” Sanaa reminds, laughingly.

“Shut up! My new contacts will be here Monday, thank you very much!”

“Are they green? Please tell me they aren’t green.”

“Something wrong with my color of choice?”

“Not when we talking about a shirt, shoes, or even wall paint. Iono know why you feel the need to still wear colored contacts. Ain’t nothing wrong with ya brown eyes girl.”

_Oh no, not this again._

“They’re my aesthetic,” Mahari responds dryly.

“And so is Cheeze Itz tiddies apparently. Anywhore, you look good. Put them Nike slides I got you on.”

Mahari rolls her eyes but still pulls the white Liberty Print Duos out of their box dutifully, slipping them on. She wiggles her white-painted toes. She’d forgotten how comfy they are. 

“Anyone ever tell you that you a bossy hoe?”

“Every day.” 

Hari finishes primping, completing the look with a final swipe of her Fenty Beauty lipstick. She chose to keep her lip neutral, opting for the shade Spanked, a dusty rose pink.

“Somebody tryna get _spanked_ by her favorite teacher,” Sanaa grins while giving Hari a final once over.

“Say one more word and I’ma start taking applications for a new best friend,” Hari threatens, sticking her tongue out childishly.

“Girl bye, I’m irreplaceable. Now go shake ya ass on Monkey Man. I’ll be waiting by the phone to hear all the juicy details.”

“There won’t be any juicy details to tell, but go off,” Hari replies. She tucks her phone into the pocket of the white lightweight Nike Swoosh jacket and makes her way downstairs. 

“This is a nice pocket,” Sanaa jokes. “Much nicer than the back pocket of ya jeans.”

“Bye Five!” Hari grins as she ends the call with a tap of her Airpod and starts her walk towards sorority row, where the party was being held.

* * *

As much as Hari had thought the buzz around the party was a little over-dramatized, it turns out she was wrong. As she weaves her way through the ever-increasing throngs of people, her anxiety begins to creep up on her. Mahari has always been a bit of a claustrophobe ever since her cousin had locked her in a closet for close to two hours when she was only four. Big crowds and small dark spaces were the bane of her existence and this was proving to be a very very big turn out. 

By the time she had made it to what looked like the entry, Mahari was ready to turn around and go the fuck back home having been bumped by more people than she could count. 

“Excuse you,” she nearly shouts at one girl who smacked her with her obviously fake Fendi purse. 

“You excused,” the wench calls back without even turning around, her friends snickering loudly as they continue their journey. 

“Oh nah, fuck this,” Mahari fumes, turning on her heels to go back the way she came. This shit was officially canceled for her. 

“Hari!” David calls from somewhere in the crowd. She curses under her breath before turning to walk in the direction of his voice. He meets her halfway, grabbing her hand and escorting her through the entrance.

“Told you I do fun things,” Hari jokes as they walk towards the Alpha house.

“Uh huh. It looks like you were about to go back home when I called your name,” David says, nudging her arm playfully.

Hari shook her head, smiling. She had been had, but she wasn’t about to let him know that.

“Nah, I was actually about to chin check shorty for bumping me with that fake ass Fendi, but I ain’t tryna get kicked outta school.”

David laughs at the thought of Mahari actually fighting someone.

“Let me find out little Mahari Urkle got some savage in her,” he jokes again. Hari stops mid stride, staring up at him like he had just insulted her. If she were being honest, he had.

“Nigga did you really just call me Mahari Urkle? I outta pop you!” she grins, just as they reach the stairs of the frat house. Hari’s heart nearly jumps out of her chest when she sees Erik standing at the foot of the steps chatting with one of David’s prophytes. She clenches her thighs as she takes in his relaxed state. The black Nike dri-fit shirt clings to his body like a second skin, while light jeans and a crisp pair of Retro 13s complete the look. His dreads are neatly braided back and his signature gold frames shine in the street lights.

“Oh shit, you finally got her to come to something! Wassup Mahari?” Chauncey calls out, briefly interrupting the conversation he and Erik were having. Erik looks in her direction, flashing her a sly grin.

“Hey Chauncey. I came on my own accord, thank you very much,” she says with a sweet smile.

“Wassup, Khaleesi. I _still_ ain’t get that email,” Erik teases, his grin stretching wider across his face.

“How many times must I tell you this? It’s _Kha-mi-s_ i, teacher nigga. And I’ma send it.”

“Tonight?”

“Sure. I’ll do it right after this.”

“Leave her alone, E,” Chauncey laughs and slaps Erik’s chest lightly with the back of his hand. “It’s a weekend and, as much as you like to think you are, you ain’t her teacher. Lighten up.”

“Only thing I’m finna light up is yo ass if you touch me again,” Erik scowls brushing invisible dirt off his shirt.

The scene fills Mahari with a sense of dejavu and she briefly recalls the night she met Chauncey for the first time. 

_It was last spring, when David finally crossed the sands into Alphaland. He had been talking about it since their freshman year and his hard work had finally paid off._

_“Dinisha! Dinisha!” a voice calls from somewhere behind her._

_Hari is in the middle of hugging David and handing him his probate gift when a hand taps her shoulder._

_  
“Dinisha, I know you heard me calling you,” the stranger says, catching Hari off guard. “Quit playing.”_

_“I’m sorry, but I think you have me confused with someone else,” Hari corrects him._

_His skin was light caramel and the little bit of scruff on his beard made him look slightly older than he was. He was dressed in all black, a fitted shirt and slacks accented with gold pinstripes and matching black and gold Versace loafers. He held a staff adorned with the letters A Phi A and a black and gold line jacket that read InPHInite InTAILegence completed the ensemble. He definitely fit the Alpha Man persona.  
  
“Big C, this is the girl I was telling you about,” David grins proudly, throwing an easy arm around her shoulders and turning her fulls towards him. “Hari, this is my prophyte Chauncey. Chauncey, this is my homegirl Mahari.”_

_Chauncey’s face stretches into a wide, boylike grin._

_“Oh **this** is Mahari,” he steps up closer, gripping her outstretched hand to shake. Mischievousness twinkles in his brown eyes that makes Hari smile at him without realizing. “I don’t know what kind of spell you got on lil bro, but he won’t shut up–”_

_“Oh kaaaay! That’s enough introductions,” David interrupts pulling Hari back to him as he looks back down at her. “You coming to the afterparty?” he asks hopefully._

_“I would, but I’ve gotta study. Maybe next time,” she says. The probate already has her social meter at max capacity. She couldn’t handle even another 30 minutes of this.  
  
“Translation: she’s just not that into you,” a deep voice calls from over Chauncey’s shoulder._

_“Play nice, E,” a femine voice chastises right after._

_The trio turn to the sound of the two voices and Mahri takes in a deep, quiet breath. Erik Stevens in all his tall, pretty nigga glory is walking towards them with an equally pretty, light skinned girl in an AKA jacket._

_Although they weren’t acquaintances, nearly all of the female population at Oakland University knew who he was. Mahari was very much included in the statistic having given him an eyefuck or two every time she’d seen him. Hari isn’t shy but she’s also not a thirsty hoe. She figured if she was going to meet him it would happen organically or not at all. Looks like her moment had finally come._

_“What? I’m just letting my boy here know what’s real,” Erik reasons._

_“Nah, you’re being an ass, something you do best,” Pretty light skinned says. She gives Hari a sweet smile before extending her hand. “I’m Dinisha, nice to meet you,” she states._

_“Likewise,” Mahari smiles back._

_“And this peanut headed ass nigga is Erik,” Chauncey jokes._

_“Wassup,” Erik nods at her with a smile._

_Mahari bites the inside of her cheek gently to make sure the moment is real. His voice is a little deeper than she expected and he had dimples. Her weakness._

_“Mahari. Nice to meet you.”_

David snaps his fingers in her face to bring Hari back to the present.

“You good? You spaced out a bit there.”

“Oh, yeah I’m fine. What did you ask me?”

“I said who is Khamisi?”

Hari stood staring at him with the blankest of faces. Was he serious? They had known each other _how long_ and he was asking this dumbass question.

“Me,” she states plainly, giving him an annoyed look. 

“Your name is Mahari,” David says slowly, as if he was talking to a toddler. “Where does Khamisi come in?”

“Ooh Lord, the pretty ones are always the dumb ones,” Chauncey chuckles as he takes in the look on Mahari’s face. 

“This bitch,” she mumbles under her breath, causing Erik to snicker. “My name is Mahari _Khamisi_ Owens. I told you that when we first met, remember?”

“Oh yeah, you did tell me that. The shit is a mouthful.” David glances down at Mahari’s hips with a lick of his lips. _I’m sure that ain’t the only thing that is_ , he thinks. “I bet that means some shit like beautiful or goddess or some shit,” he says, in a feeble attempt to rectify the situation.

“That shit literally means ‘born on a Thursday,’” Erik interrupts with a not so discreet eye roll.

The statement catches Hari off guard, seeing as how not many people knew that. Even she herself didn’t know until a conversation with her mother about the origin of her name back in eight grade. She blinks over at him to find him looking at David smugly. 

“Oh shit, you’re African?” Chauncey asks, now intrigued by Hari’s heritage.

“My father is, but the name itself is–”

“It’s Indian,” Erik interrupts again, causing all three heads to jerk in his direction. Hari was now even more attracted to him than she was before. Not only did he have a well structured face with an incredible stroke game, he was also knowledged in other cultures, something not often seen in guys her age.

David notices the twinkle in Hari’s eyes as she stares up at Erik while Chauncey begins to question him on exactly how he knew the meaning and origin of her name. His blood begins to bubble just below the surface. This was his girl and he’d be damned if he let some Dr. Umar Johnson with dreads nigga swoop in and snatch her away from him.

“You wanna go get some food, Hari?” he asks to change the subject, reaching over to take her hand. 

“Nah, I’m good,” she states, drawing her hand back to rest in the pocket of her jacket. She was still watching Erik, enraptured in the way his lips moves. She wondered briefly what other knowledge he possessed. 

The exchange doesn’t go unnoticed, however. Chauncey chuckles lightly at the way David’s face falls when Mahari gently turns him away. His neo was still wet behind the ears when it came to how to get a girl. He _would_ throw him a bone, but watching the little nigga stumble his way through this was proving to be a little entertaining. 

_Besides,_ Chauncey thinks as he takes in Mahari’s unabashed staring of his best friend, _shorty looks like she has her eyes on a much bigger prize._

“So _this_ where y’all hiding at,” Dinisha’s voice calls from somewhere behind Hari. Her curly fro was pulled into a neat pineapple, while her white AKA jacket covered the loose fitting pink maxi dress.

“Wassup D,” Chaucey waves, noticing the way her smile curls into a full out grin when Erik flashes his fronts.

“Hey E,” she calls, adding a little extra honey to her tone hoping he’d notice. 

_These niggas a whole damn alphabet crew_ , Hari thought to herself.

Erik _did_ notice the change in Dinisha’s tone, stretching his hand out to pull her into a tight embrace.

“Wassup,” he said with a smirk. “You smell good. What you wearin?”

Dinisha giggles up at him, running the tips of her coffin nails across his pectoral. 

“What you mean? That’s my natural smell,” she winks playfully. 

“Girl that’s Gucci Guilty, stop lying!” Chauncey calls out. “Out here tryna front like niggas don’t know fragrances.”

“Ugh! Shut up Chauncey!” Dinisha whines like a bratty teenager. “You always gotta throw your two-cents in!”

The green-eyed monster started to bubble in the pit of Hari’s belly uncomfortably. Dinisha, while nice, was the socialite that Hari sometimes wished she was. Hari envied her outgoing personality and ability to flirt with Erik openly and without inhibitions. She didn’t hate the girl. Dinisha was always nothing but nice each time they’d encountered each other. But it was times like this, watching her stand under Erik’s arm while she questioned him about when he was going to call her that jealousy coated her spirit from head to toe. 

“Ya know, on second thought,” Hari says, grabbing David by the arm, “I am kinda hungry.” Without another word, the pair make their way to the food table, leaving the Alphabet Gang to talk amongst themselves. 

“You aight,” David asks her gently, studying her face. Something was off with her. In the three years he’d know Mahari, she rarely ever changed her mind that quickly. David glances back from where they came to find Chauncey waving at him with a smile. And Erik looking at the back of Hari’s head confused. 

“I haven’t eaten in a while and I tend to get a bit cranky when I’m hungry,” Mahari states.  
  


 _But you just said you were good_ , her conscious goads. 

_Bitch mind your business!_

Even though he’s still slightly confused, David isn’t going to miss the opportunity to have all to himself. 

“Aight.”

The pair fall into a gentle conversation about school and their upcoming project. 

“You finished your thesis paper yet?” Mahari asks around a sip of Ape Juice. She grimaces at the golden drink swirling in her solo cup. “This does _not_ taste like apple juice,” she fusses as the liquid burns her chest.

“It’s strong,” David chuckles at the adorable way her nose crinkles before sighing. “Nah I still have like five more pages to write.”

“Nigga, its an eight page _minimum_. The fuck have you been doing?”

“That,” he chuckles, looking over at his line brothers as they gathered around, waiting for Make It Rain to start. “Hold this for me?” David asks, handing Mahari his cup before he shimmies out of his jacket, placing it on her shoulders. 

“Oh,” she says startled by the action and the way his cologne wafts up to her nose. “Okay.”

The song starts and a slew of Alphas and AKAs swarm around the DJ booth. Hari smiles as she watches the way David kicks his leg in the air during the A-Train. 

“ _Lord_ , they let this nigga have the whistle,” she chuckles to herself.

She notices that Dinisha has joined the stroll line, taking her place behind David as the train makes its way around the party. 

Mahari feels eyes on her and glances up, only to meet Erik’s gaze. She blushes, giving him a shy wave before turning her attention back to the stroll line. After about five minutes, David breaks line and makes his way back to her, a wide grin stretched across his sweaty face.

“I can’t believe they let you have the whistle,” she laughs when he’s within earshot.

“Cuz I’m _that_ nigga,” he says proudly, beating his chest like a gorilla for emphasis.

“Okay Monkey Man,” she laughs while fixing herself a plate.

Mahari has to admit, they went all out for this event. There were skirt steaks, chicken and shrimp kabobs, sweet corn on the cob, ribs, and for the basic niggas, regular hot dogs and hamburgers.

She loads her plate up just as her stomach gives another angry growl. 

“I take it someone’s not themself when they’re hungry,” David pokes her belly playfully.

“Do that again and I swear I’ma pop you!” Hari laughs between bites of shrimp.

“That’s twice you done said you gone to pop me girl. Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

“The third time is gonna be the one, aggy ass nigga.”

Both Hari and David were surprised at how much she’d loosened up with a bit of liquid courage. Her mind drifted away from Erik long enough to actually enjoy spending time with David. Although sometimes aggy, Mahari could easily say that David was one of her closest friends. He had been there for her at times when she needed him and she appreciates him for being as persistent as he was in getting her here. She was really enjoying herself. Mahari drains her cup with a grateful, private smile towards him.

That is, until he tried to pull her to dance.

“C’moooon, it’s just one dance.”  
  
“David, I can’t dance,” Hari pleads. The truth was, the alcohol was making Hari’s social anxiety and claustrophobia ten times worse. And, although she was enjoying herself, the constant bumping of people and ever growing crowd was starting to weigh on her psyche. It was time to go home.

David pulls her arm a little too hard for her liking.

“Why you actin’ like this? I know damn well you lying about not being able to dance too. With them nice ass hips.”

Mahari balks at him, snatching her arm away. She could tell by the glassy look in his low eyes he was feeling himself and the drink way more than he was a few moments before. Ire grew in her belly at his audacity and she takes a step back from him.

“David, I said no!” she yells, louder than she intended, attracting attention from those around them.

“She said no,” Erik barks lowly, wedging his body between the two. Hari was both relieved and intrigued that he had appeared just when she needed him.

_Where did this nigga come from?_

“Nigga where did you even come from?” David takes the words straight from her brain, taking a step back. 

“Don’t matter, she said no. Get your drunk ass on somewhere,” Erik spits before he turns back to Mahari. “You good?”

Mahari only nods, thanking God that she put on a thong otherwise the whole party would see just how good she really was.

“Aight,” Erik says, pulling David’s jacket off her shoulders, before thrusting it into his chest without so much as a glance to see if he had it. “You ready to go? I’ll walk you.”

Hari nods again, following him back to the entrance of the party as she glances around. They’d garnered a lot of attention during the seven second spat. Multiple sets of eyes following them as they made their way through. Dinisha’s lustful as they track every dip in Erik’s step.

 _This bitch_ , Hari thinks bitterly.

Silence fills the first few minutes of their walk. Mahari lags back a few steps with her head dropped down, looking at her slides. 

“Come up here where I can see you girl,” Erik calls back to her. “If someone else snatches yo ass up, how Ima know?”

A small smile curls at her lips and she takes a few bigger strides to catch up to the taller man. 

“Shut up, beanstalk.” 

_You tryna climb?_ Erik thinks to himself before asking the question that was really looming in his mind.

“You need me or Chauncey to handle him?” he gruffs.

Mahari hesitates. While it would be funny to watch David sweat a little more under Erik’s gaze, she didn’t want to involve him any more than he already is. 

“Nah. He was just tipsy. He’s not normally like that.”

“A lot of rapists aren’t ‘normally like that.’” Erik informs her, looking down at her sternly. 

Mahari scowls at the thought. David wasn’t built like that.

“He’s not a _rapist_ , he’s my friend.”

“A lot of rapists start off as friends,” Erik states plainly again.

“Erik chill. Like I said, I know him. He’s harmless.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

“There goes that feistiness again I see,” Erik grins at her, throwing an arm around her shoulder. “What you was gonna do if I ain’t show up, hmm?”

“I can defend myself, thank you very much,” she snaps, her fingers still tightly clutching the pepper spray on her keychain. Sanaa had gifted it to her when she first moved on campus.

 _“Ain’t nobody gone catch my bestie lacking!”_ Hari smiles at the memory.

That brought Erik a little relief. 

“Aight,” he says, stopping in front of her building. “This you, right?”

“Yeah, but how you know?”

“This is the upperclassmen dorm, duh,” he counters.

“Oh,” she whispers dumbly. The butterflies gone just as fast as they arrived. Why would a nigga like him track where she lived? The alcohol had her buggin. “Yeah, that’s true.”

“You going to work on them questions?” he smirks.

“Nigga why you so pressed about my questions?”

“Cuz I know ya slick ass ain’t really got none,” he challenges, catching her off guard briefly.

_Wow. Caught red handed._

“You just a fuckin’ know it all, aint you?”

“Takes one to know one,”

“Good night teacher nigga!”

“Good night Khaleesi.”

_“It’s -”_

“I know what it is, I just like calling you Khaleesi to fuck witchu.”

“Do I get to give you a nickname?” Mahari asks as he backs up, hands in his pockets. 

“I thought it was teacher nigga?” he laughs.

“Yeah, but something else.”

“Well…,” Erik bites his lips, knowing he shouldn’t say what’s on the tip of his tongue but saying fuck it anyway. “It’s too early for you to call me Daddy, so how about Sir.”

“Nigga I am _not_ calling you that!”

“Then Teacher Nigga it is. Lata Hari.”

Mahari watches his figure as it drifts away under the streetlights. Their exchange had somehow felt a little bit like flirting. She bites her lip gently as she fishes her keyfob out of her pocket and heads inside. 

Maybe she’s a little more confident than she thought.

* * *

The rose colored wine swishes gently in her wine glass as Mahari twirls her wrists in a circle. She knows that drinking more alcohol after the ficaso that happened a few hours prior was not the best of decisions, but the bottle was leftover from the weekend before and she figures she may as well finish it. Plus Sanaa had started it when she opened her own bottle. She wasn’t finna let her nigga drink alone. That’s how alcoholics are born.

So, she sips her rose while she regaled her best friend with all of the “juicy details” that made up her early evening. 

_“See wench! I told you that there would be juice!”_

That was about twenty minutes ago. Somehow, in her spree of terrible decision making, she ends up back on Erik’s OnlyFans. Though she’d promised herself she’d only watch one video, curiosity is scratching at the back of her skull once more. She still hadn’t made an account, using that as a means of convincing herself that she wouldn’t be there for long.

As she scrolls the timeline, the first post catches her attention.

_Check your inbox, it might be some dick in there. If it is, show ya boy some love 💦🍆_

“This nigga sliding in DMs now?” Hari giggles around a mouthful of wine. 

“Wait, what is this?” she thinks aloud, noticing the blue message notification icon at the bottom of the screen. Hari’s palms become sweaty and her face hot. What if he knew it was her? Had she really been had after viewing only one video?

_Bitch, you’re literally a username and some numbers. Relax._

The alcohol had her more paranoid than usual. She takes a few deep breaths before clicking the notification.

“Nigga you said _some_ dick. Not three helpings! What in the Carol Baskins!”

Mahari’s eyes bulged as she watched his wide hand stroke his shaft slowly. Erik’s big body looks like it’s sitting on the edge of a bed. Thick thighs spread wide, giving him room to move and tug. His thick member was well lubricated, and the vein running along the underside throbs with every pass. 

Wine nearly dribbles over her lip as Hari follows the movements closely. She has never seen a dick in this HD quality before. And, although she doesn’t know what one feels like, her body heats anyway. A natural reaction to the scene before her.

“Either I’m drunk or his dick got bigger…”

_“Wassup baby?” His thick voice calls out making her eyes jump up to his full lips. The room was dimly lit with a soft blue light, making his melanin pop severely._

He grunts heavily, lifting his dick slightly towards the camera, giving her a good view of his testicles.

“This nigga balls look heavy as shit,” Mahari mutters.

_“Been waiting for you,” Erik nearly moans._

Mahari is acutely reminded that she’s only wearing a t-shirt on her leather couch. She coils her legs together tightly, trying to staunch the liquid seeping from her body.

“For me?” she asks weakly, eyes still glued to the way he handles himself.

_“Yeah you,” he smirks, cockily. Pulling that bottom lip through his teeth. His hand moves higher. Palming the thick, purpling head of his dick with one hand, while the other joins it. Moving counterclockwise smoothly and unrushed. The nigga was taking his time on himself._

_Imagine what he does to others._

“This nigga is using two hands? Ima have to throw in a foot if I wanna compete with this shit.”

Hari’s mouth waters as she catches a glimpse of precum oozing out of the tip, his swift right hand catching it. Spreading it through his fingers as he continues to work himself over.

_“You see this?” he asks, releasing his dick. Mahari nearly squeals as it slaps back against his stomach with a loud smack. “All this shit for you, baby.”_

“I wanna swallow his –”

Hari catches herself just as Erik’s voice fills her ears once more. He was moaning now, his voice traveling straight to her core. She could tell by his quickening pace he was getting closer and she didn’t know whether she wants to close the app, her eyes, or open her legs. 

_“Ugh, fuck,” he whispers. “You ready for this nut, baby?”_

Was she? 

“Y-yes,” she whispers, embarrassed. It feels like he’s right in front of her. As if she could reach out and run her fingers down the prominent cobbles of his stomach. 

_“Speak up, Daddy couldn’t hear you.”_

“Yes Daddy,” she whispers again, louder. 

Her attention is solely on him as his stomach flexes so tightly she’s convinced it must be painful. Erik groans loudly as thick streams of cum shoot out onto the camera lens.

His voice is like gravel when he speaks through his orgasm. The gritty feeling covering her body as she pants like she was the one working him over, not the other way around.

_“Uhn, there you go, Good Girl. All of Daddy’s thick nut. Just for you.”_

Mahari throws her phone onto the soft rug near her. Body warm and rushing. Why the hell did she subscribe to his damn channel? She didn’t need this shit in her life. 

_“Did you enjoy the show, ma?”_

“No!” Mahari screams, throwing her pillow at the phone. Erik’s deep chuckle echoed from underneath, mocking her. 

She was _definitely_ about to make a profile.

* * *

Erik leans back in his office chair, patiently waiting for the video to finish loading. His mind clouded with thoughts of Mahari, more specifically the way her eyes widen when frightened. His dick twitches at the thought of her making the same face while he etches his name in her walls, claiming it as his and his alone.

The thought honestly frightens _him_ if he’s being honest. It’s been a long time since he’s thought of anyone in that capacity. His mind solely on finishing his degree. Any physical needs met through his newly found hobby. But everytime she looks up at him with that curious, innocent stare, the urge to sully her grows. 

Erik shakes the thought from his head. For all he knows, Mahari is more virginal than he’s even imagining. She didn’t need a big dick nigga who isn’t ready to commit coming in to fuck shit up. He’s more than aware that needs to follow own his logical thoughts and step away from her, but watching lil niggas like David make her uncomfortable has his protective instincts flaring up. She was too trusting. He’d have to watch out for her.

 _You mean keep her from yourself?_ His subconscious snickers.

It’s true. He had slipped up and asked her to call him Daddy. Not only that but he’d given away that he knew which dorm she stayed in. Sure it was an upperclassman dorm, but there were four in that area. It wasn’t like he was stalking the girl, no one had him pressed like that. But she’d always come from that general direction. Anyone with basic deductive reasoning skills could have put that shit together. 

_Keep lying to ya self, bruh._

Erik swipes his hand across his forehead roughly. He had to be more careful.

Finally, the video completes its upload. He selects a few users at random to share it with. He liked doing things like this. It kept the page fresh and his viewers guessing. He couldn’t wait to see the feedback he would get from this one. 

He is just closing his laptop when an incoming text from Dinisha pulls his attention away. His heart kicks up as he opens it. Attached is a link to one of his videos on Twitter playing back at him. The three dotted bubble signifying that she had a lil something to say about it. 

So she had figured him out, huh? He thought cockily. Now what?

_I wanna be ya next costar._

Well…he wasn’t expecting that. Erik huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he put the phone down on the desk and headed towards the bathroom to shower. 

Dinisha was cool. They had been acquaintances for a few years now. She was attractive and always managed to find him at any event they were both at. He’d consider the idea.

A plethora of messages awaited him as he returned, the towel slung low around his hips, water still sliding across his chain. Most of them were thirsty but one actually caused him to chuckle.

_User02091987: NIGGA I ALMOST BROKE MY GHATDAMN PHONE MESSIN WIT YO ASS!_


	3. Case of The Threes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, look. I know so many of you are anxiously waiting for me to update my other two stories, and its coming dammit, but what had happened was, I drank too much wine and was bugging tf out with Vanity which turned into us writing this ridiculousness hurr. I aint sorry. At least I’m writing dammit lol. I really am working on both Overstimulated and Bratopia - the latter of which is actually almost finished. But beggars can’t can be choosers and we all know yall some choosing as heauxs LOLOLOLOL! With that being said, here is chapter three of Your OnlyFan. 
> 
> We hope you love it :)

Soft neo-soul music filters through the speakers while musky smoke permeates the air, filling Erik with a sense of nostalgia. He has always loved Taps, mostly because it’s the only black-owned cigar shoppe in the city. It has more of a speakeasy vibe with its rich brick walls, chocolate leather seating, and the multitude of records lining the walls. N’Jobu had been the one to introduce him to the place as it is nestled in the heart of the financial district and within walking distance of his office. 

A small smile curved Erik’s lips as he thought about the first night he’d been here. The same night he’d met Chanel. 

_He’d met his father here for an after-work drink to discuss the next stage of their plan. Taking over the family business had been outlined as Erik’s future even before he could read. N’Jobu prided himself on the little knowledge he’d smuggled out of Wakanda during his banishment. Old scribed texts with ancient medical practices that were still light years ahead of anything the Western world had seen._

_Erik had nodded his head in understanding even while only giving the older man half an ear. He knew what he had to do, this conversation was one of many, and the repetition was starting to wear on him. His gaze began to wander, falling from patron to patron in the spacious bar before the opening door caught his attention._

_She walked in and all eyes immediately fell on her. She looked ethereal. A canvas of rich ebony skin encased in an all-white wrap dress. Her wide hips swinging with every click of her heels as she made her way to sit two seats down from where Erik sat. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, locking eyes with him and giving him a small smile he knew was purely an invitation before turning towards the bartender to place her order._

_N’Jobu knew that he’d lost his son completely to the woman. The nearly gaping look on his face comical. It was a nice change in pace seeing as how not many things threw him off. Looking over, he couldn’t really blame him. Instead, he only patted his arm, advising him to call his mom soon, before making his exit._

_His father hadn’t even made it fully out of the door before Erik slid over to her to ask for her name._

_Her voice took him by surprise when she’d spoken. It was deeper than he’d imagined but still pleasant to his ear._

_“Chanel.”_

The rest, well, was current history.

Which made this the perfect location for the meeting he had planned. 

He spots Dinisha sitting at the bar, her fluffy afro framing her face beautifully and lengthening down her neck. Her outfit is simple, a mocha-colored spaghetti-strapped dress that was hugging her curves while the Ankh necklace she wore called attention to her --

“My eyes are up here, thank you very much,” she says with a sly grin.

“I’m aware, but I wanna look right here,” he retorts, barely grazing her cleavage as he hooks a finger in the necklace, pulling her closer. “You smell good, must be that _natural scent_ again,” he smirks, earning a playful smack to his pectoral.

“You and Chauncey get on my nerves. Y’all stay trying to clown somebody.”

“Who clowning? I’m just repeating what you said.” He takes his place next to her, ordering himself a double Hennessy straight up. “Mmm, that’s a _big_ nigga drink,” she muses, bringing her fruity-smelling beverage to her lips.

Erik smirks at her, sliding the bartender his black card and telling her to keep it open.

“You’ve seen my videos enough to know who you dealing with.”

Dinisha’s eyes smolder at that. 

“Mmm, that _was_ a lot of inches.”

“Is,” Erik corrects, picking up his drink. 

It’s always this way with Dinisha whenever they got together. Yeah, she was gorgeous, but she also makes him laugh, was smart as shit, and could hold her own when it came to having an intellectual conversation. Erik grins big at the thought. There weren’t many women he enjoyed spending his time with. Shit, the only other one he could think of was Mahari. 

His face quickly sets in a hard grimace. That isn’t the train of thought he wanted to entertain at this moment. 

“Why you making that face?” Dinisha asks, turning towards him fully. Her heart rate spikes uncomfortably. “Don’t tell me you set all of this up only to turn me down. I thought we were better than that, E,” she pouts.

_Fuckin’ brat,_ her smirks internally. 

“Do I look like a nigga that could call you all the way here just for that?”

“I guess not,” she replies, taking another sip of her drink to hide how relieved her face is.

“What’s that fruity shit called anyway?”

“It’s called the Dangerous Waters Island Punch. It’s got Malibu coconut, blue curacao, pineapple juice, and sweet and sour.”

_A Liquid Marijuana sans Captain Morgan and Midori,_ Erik muses to himself.

“A fitting drink,” he laughs, bringing the highball glass to his lips. He’s never been one to beat around the bush and now wasn’t the time to start. “So, how you find out it was me?”

Dinisha’s eyes bulge as she sits her down glass and squares her shoulders. 

“Ever the bold, straight forward nigga, huh?”

“Why switch it up now?” he questions with a shrug. 

“Chauncey told me,” she answers blankly. “Your secret is safe with me though. You ain’t gotta worry about me telling your parents or anything.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t worried about all that. You got as much to lose as I do. Aint that right, Ms. Future Lawyer?”

Dinisha nods once even as heat pools her face. She was pleased he remembered that bit.

“Which is _why_ I’d be the perfect candidate.”

“Candidate to fuck or you trying to weasel your way into something deeper?” Erik questions, looking straight into her eyes.

Dinisha balks at that, taken aback. She hadn’t planned to have her true motives laid before her so quickly. It’s true, she’d had her sights set on the infamous loner for some time but she could tell he had walls thicker than the ones at Fort Knox erected around his heart. She had been trying to slowly knock it down brick by brick, but when Chauncey let the knowledge slip that he was the owner of her favorite OnlyFans account, she decided to dig herself under the jail. Using her pussy as the shovel.

Seems she was found out before she’d even had the chance.

“That’s what I figured,” he states plainly, seeing the truth in her green gaze. “Listen, I don’t have a problem adding you to the lineup, but that’s all this is. No strings attached, no commitment, just sex.”

“I hear you,” Dinisha says, the gears in the back of her mind already working of a way to get him to change his mind. She was well aware that her box was legendary, life-changing even. All she needs is one night alone with him, and he’d be begging to be the only one knocking each and every one of her curls askew.

“I’m not playing, Dinisha,” Erik says with finality. This was one of his rules he never breaks. As much as people may think, he wasn’t really an ain’t shit nigga. He never led anyone to believe this was more than what it was and he wasn’t about to start now. “One slight deviation from the plan and you gotta go.”

“I heard you the first time, Teacher Nigga. Just sex, I got it.”

Erik’s mind once again flashes to Mahari at the mention of the nickname she had given him. This time, he was better at masking his emotion. He chugs the rest of his Hennessy before turning his lips up into a sexy smirk.

“First of all, don’t call me that. Second of all, you wanna start tonight?”

Dinisha returns his smirk, pussy already jumping at the chance to have him invade her sanctum. Any questions she has about the nickname are quite literally drowned by her body drooling.

“Is that an invitation to your place?”

“Oh nah, I don’t fuck at home,” he says matter of factly. Rule number two that he also won’t break. 

Dinisha raises her brow at that. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t curious as to what his apartment looks like.

“You got a roommate or something?”

“Nah,” he offers with no further explanation.

“Oh...kay. We can go to my place,” she says finally. “It’s not far from here and I live alone.”

“Bet.” 

Erik pays the tab, leaving a generous tip before starting towards the door with Dinisha, his hand on the small of her back. They had just reached the doors when he spots a familiar face. He couldn’t remember her name, but he had seen her in one of his psychology classes. The black jumpsuit perfectly carves out her curves while a white fur stole rests on her shoulders. Loose deep curls cascade over her shoulders while her plump lips turn up into her signature man trapping smile in acknowledgment.

_She wants the dick and if it weren’t for Dinisha, he would give it to her._

But it wasn’t really her that caught his attention. But rather the nigga on her shoulder. 

Ryan Wilkins. COO of Wilkins & Son. And fiance to Chanel.

_Looks like this nigga is back at it again,_ Erik thought as he locked eyes with the girl he was with. He gives her a respectful nod before ushering Dinisha out the door.

“I’ll follow your lead,” he calls out to her as they reach their respective cars. 

On the way to Dinisha’s place, he whips out his cell to send a quick text to Chanel.

_I saw ya boy in Taps._

**Okay, and?**

_Just thought you should know. I told you he wasn’t no good._

**Says the nigga that’s been breakin’ my back in my entire engagement.**

Damn. She had him there.

_I’ll call you later._

Dinisha’s place looks exactly how Erik imagined it would. Girly as hell with fluffy decorative pillows on the couch and loveseat and a plush white rug resting underneath her silver glass coffee table. The furniture is white, accented with blush pink and apple green throughout. A large AKA shield serves as the accent wall behind her couch and tiny frogs adorn the mantle. 

His initial plan was to mount his camera between two of the frogs, giving viewers the perfect view of him tearing her ass up from behind, but he didn’t want to get her in trouble with her sorority. Instead, he grabs his tripod, setting it up in front of the coffee table. The large bay window was the perfect backdrop, providing just the right amount of moonlight and ambiance, a sweet contrast of what was to come.

Dinisha crosses the threshold to the living room, still wearing the dress from the bar and holding a chilled bottle of wine. 

Erik gives her a sly smirk before initiating his command.

“Yeah, you can just gone ahead and take all that off.”

* * *

“Why the frick frack paddy whack give a dog a bone is it so gosh dang busy in here today?”

“Nigga what did you just say?” Terrell asks one eyebrow raised incredulously.

Mahari sweeps a broad hand out towards the busy crowd of students in varying degrees of panic before them. Midterm season was officially in its eve which meant the normally busy library was quickly entering a chaotic state. While the influx of students passed the time on their shifts much quicker, the trade-off was increased levels of stress and caffeine intake. A powerful duo that did more harm than good. 

“Nigga I _know_ you heard me,” Mahari sassed back, unloading books from her pushcart. 

She had been stuck with reservation duty. She _hated_ reservation duty. 

“I heard you, I just wasn’t expecting all them extra words and phrases,” he jokes. 

“Whatever,” Mahari rolls her eyes over to the side, where she spotted David just walking through the doors. She had successfully ignored him since she’d last seen him at the party. Going so far as to put his messages on do not disturb. It wasn’t so much that she was mad at him but more just not ready to have the conversation she knew they needed to have. 

He looked pitiful. His face was sunken in and tired, a clear indication of just how much midterm stress was weighing him down. He flashed her a soft smile, internally debating on whether or not he should walk over to her. After a beat, he willed his feet towards the bookshelf she stood in front of, his heart thumping loudly in his ears.

Mahari hands over the last books on her cart, eyes still locked with David’s.

“Tag these for me? I need to go get the rest.”

“I gotchu,” Terrell says, taking this as a queue to leave.

“Hey Hari,” David offered weakly. 

She returned the greeting, annoyance written all over her face.

“I just came to return these books I checked out the other night,” he explains, sliding the books onto the cart.

“You can just drop them in the shoot,” she offers kindly, rolling her cart away from him.

“Oop,” Terrell mutters quietly, biting back a smirk.

“Aight, look. I’m sorry, Mahari,” David calls, quickening his pace to meet up with her. “What I did the other night was way out of line and I’m not even about to sit here and attempt to justify my behavior, because I was a real dick. If you wanna cuss me out, go ahead, but don’t let this be the reason we stop talking. I don’t want to fuck up our friendship over something dumb like this.”

Shock floods Mahari slightly as she stares at him. Truthfully, she didn’t think a nigga like him could even apologize. She doubts he’s ever had to. It was a pleasant surprise nonetheless.

_You know what that’s called? Growth._

“You ain’t gotta look so surprised,” he says with a sheepish grin. 

“I am though,” she states honestly, shrugging her shoulder. 

“A pleasant surprise I hope,” he says looking at her through his lashes and biting his lip.

“Don’t ruin it with the bedroom eyes nigga. You were doing _so_ well,” she bemoans jokingly, face turned to the sky making David laugh cautiously. 

“Okay, my fault. But...I _am_ forgiven, right?”

Mahari sighs once and nods.

“Yes. _But_ if you do something like that again, Ima kick your ass.”

It’s David’s turn to roll his eyes even as he beams a megawatt smile at her. 

“Or, _Erik_ will kick my ass,” he mutters. 

Mahari raises a brow not fully hearing what he said. 

“What you say, Monkey Man?”

“Nuffin,” he huffs. “Aight lemme go.”

“You actually came here for something else?” Mahari questions. Feeling only slightly self-centered in thinking he had come solely to see her.

“Yeah, I gotta finish that paper.”

Mahari watches as he drops the books into the shoot and heads towards the computer lab, his heavy backpack bouncing against his back. 

“Well I’ll be,” she whispers to herself with a slight shake of her head. 

“You gone go get those books, or stare at this nigga ass?” Terrell pops his head around the corner, blocking her admittedly nice view with a huge grin. “Books, nigga.”

“Mind ya damn business.”

* * *

Erik leaves Dinisha’s place taken aback at her performance in the bedroom a few hours later. Hitting unlock on his blacked-out 1973 Ferrari Spyder that gleams under the street lights, he thinks back on his session with the AKA. Typically, pretty girls ran from his third leg, but she took it like a champ, almost knocking the wind from him a few times. 

“She something else,” he mutters, putting his bag in the back and rounding the car to get in. Seems he’d finally found his Buttercup.

He uses the drive home to FaceTime Chanel and reports what he’d witnessed a few hours prior in Taps.

“What’s up Professor?” she asks teasingly as his perfectly chiseled face comes into view.

Erik rolls his eyes in annoyance at the greeting before going on to explain what he’d seen.

“Is this really what you called me for?” Chanel gripes, huffing forcefully into the camera. “I’m sick of you reporting everything this nigga do when he not around me!”

“Yo for real? I tell you I see ya nigga with another bitch and you mad at me?” Erik shakes his head, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “How are you _this_ cool about this nigga doing shit like this?”

“I mean, am I any better?”

She had a point.

“Yeah, but you didn’t start this shit, C. You need to leave this nigga.”

“Now you know I can’t do that. Besides, it’s not like I actually love the nigga. I’m not phased by it.”

“Aight, if you say so.”

“Aww, he actually has a heart, y’all,” she coos with a playful smirk, propping her phone up on her nightstand before curling up with the stuffed jaguar she aptly named EJ.

Erik rolls his eyes. He was extremely possessive of the people in his life and he hated being powerless when he felt they were being taken advantage of.

“How was the party?” Chanel asks to cut the tension as well as to change the subject. She knew how much he loathed social gatherings so she was eager to hear his account of the event.

“It was cool for what it was worth. I actually ended up leaving a little early,” Erik recounts, fighting the urge to smile.

“Oh?” Chanel perks, sitting up on one arm. “Why?”

N _osy ass_ , he thinks good-humoredly. 

“Had to help a friend out of a sticky situation.”

Chanel’s eyebrows shot to her hairline.

“ _You_? Being a nice nigga? What she look like? She got a fat ass, don’t she?” 

“Not fatter than yours,” Erik says with a wink.

“Oh, I _know_. But she gotta be something for you to act out of character. You rarely play Captain Save a Hoe.”

“She not a hoe,” he fires back defensively without even thinking.

“ _And_ taking up for her,” she grins back widely, picking up her glass of red. “Someone’s nose is wide open.”

Erik sighs aggressively, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“It’s the girl from the library.”

Chanel shoots up from the bed, snatching the phone from the nightstand bringing it close to her face.

“The VIRGIN?!” she screeches loudly.

“How you know she a virgin?” Erik asks, completely dismissing her facial expression.

“Umm hello?!”

“Is this the Krusty Krab?” Erik jokes.

“Bitch! Focus!” Chanel fusses. “Did you not see the way she was eye-fucking both of us when we walked in the library? The way she was making goo-goo eyes at you, plus her overall demeanor. Please don’t tell me you tryna Black Mamba her.”

“Nah, she wouldn’t go for that,” Erik says, almost pouting.

“Yes the fuck she would,” Chanel says with finality. 

Erik’s mind wanders before he can stop himself. The red light that he’d just stopped at gave him time to visualize Mahari bent over Dr. Watson’s desk, papers scattered about as she bounces against him. Her juices pool in his lap, making a mess of herself and him. He bites his knuckle to keep from groaning. 

_Damn._

“Look at you! Fantasizing! Put ya damn dick up!” Chanel screams, pulling him from his fantasy.

Erik palms himself with one hand as the light turns green, annoyed that he’s lengthened.

“You don’t know what you talking bout.”

“Nigga, I been fucking you for over a year, you don’t think I know your aroused face?” She scoffs gently. “Ya lil followers on _OnlyFans_ may not be hip, but I sure as shit am. That’s the same face you make right before you ask to cum in my a--”

“Okay, nigga damn!” Erik cuts her off. Not needing to continue down that thought path when virginal little Mahari was concerned. Even though part of him didn’t want to believe that was even true. Shit, she had to be at least 22. And even though she looked innocent, Erik knew better to even believe that. Especially given the way Dinisha had put in on him. 

But...if she was. 

_Virgin pussy was the best pussy._

Chanel’s face suddenly turns serious, nearly reading him like a book.

“You not gone do nothing with her? Right?”

Erik scoffs, shooting her an irritated glare.

“You _sure_ you’ve known me for over a year, C? I don’t fuck my students.”

“Just making sure,” she shrugs.

“Uh-huh. Let me go grade these papers. I’ll hit you up later.”

Chanel flashes him a playful smirk as well as her exposed breasts in her robe.

“Bye Mr. Stevens,” she purrs seductively, causing Erik to grin.

“Quit playing with me, girl.”

* * *

“There is limited data to suggest that chronic opioid administration may be associated with an increased risk for cardiac-related adverse effects,” Dr. Watson drones on in his monotone voice as he addresses the 75 students before him. 

Class had returned to its former state now that _Mr. Stevens_ was not giving the lecture. Which means that most of the attendees are either scribbling down notes furiously or in different stages of falling asleep. Mahari had also resumed to her normal, star pupil state. Keeping her eyes locked on the withering man with the croaking voice and not the six-foot-plus shadow behind him.

Mostly anyway.

“However, this observation has not yet been confirmed. Regardless, while opioids are an important medication for the treatment of a multitude of chronic pain conditions, careful patient selection, and diligent monitoring is likely to decrease the risk of harm and improve patient outcomes.” Dr. Watson pauses, his thick grey eyebrows and mustache twitching as he looked about the lecture hall. 

“Are there any questions?”

Mahari glances over to David at her side, tapping his elbow with hers to get him to sit up straighter. She knew that this was his _favorite_ portion of the lecture. Wrap up.

Silence stretches on for a few seconds before Dr. Watson’s eyes land on the first row.

“Ms. Owens,” he calls to Hari after no one speaks up. 

A fissure of panic slices through Mahari quickly. This was the second time in nearly a week she’d been called out unexpectedly and she _had_ been paying attention this time.

“Sir?” she answers meekly, cheeks heating already.

“I was told that you had some questions about last week’s assignment. Is everything alright?”

“Ooh, busted!” Mariah yells from somewhere in the back of the lecture hall, earning a few giggles from their classmates. 

Hari throws a pen at her before shooting a piercing glare at Erik who was snickering softly behind Dr. Watson’s head.

“Everything’s fine, sir. I figured out the answer to my problem, which is why _Mr. Stevens_ never received that email.” She shot the jerk a sharp glare before looking back at the Doctor. “Next time, I’ll just message you directly.”

_There’s that feistiness again_ , Erik muses to himself, hands clasped in front of him.

Dr. Watson merely nods. 

“Okay, class dismissed. Please hand your thesis papers in to Mr. Stevens on your way out. And don’t forget to check Blackboard for the pre-midterm study guide.”

“You had trouble in class?” David asks as they pack their things. Mahari was easily one of the smartest people he knew. So for her to be lost was news to him.

“Just forget it,” she mutters, eyes already throwing daggers across the room as she gathers her paper to submit. “I’ll see you next class.”

“Aight.”

“Sup princess Khaleesi?” Erik greets when Mahari reaches him, his eyes smiling behind his gold frames.

If not for Dr. Watson’s eyes on them, Mahari would have slapped her paper across his face. 

“Khaleesi was a _queen_ , you uncultured swine,” Hari corrects him, seething quietly. “And for the millionth time --”

“Guh if you tell me what yo name is one mo’ time, Ima show you sumn,” Erik challenges.

“Show me what?” she challenges back, temporarily forgetting why bitches call this nigga Black Mamba.

He shoots her a devilish grin, taking notice of David hovering just out of earshot.

“You ain’t ready for that yet, _princess_.”

Mahari swallows thickly before rolling her eyes and handing him her paper. 

“It’s an A paper. You don’t even have to bother reading it.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Uh-huh. Bye Teacher Nigga.”

“Bye _Khamisi_ ,” he purrs, the syllables swirling off his tongue like aged bourbon.

Her lips betray her, curling gently as she turned towards the door to leave. She likes the way he said it. How it makes her gut twist up in a pleasurable way. Mahari damn near skips to her next class and she tries to reason with herself that the shining sun and cool autumn breeze are the reason for her giddiness. But even a blind man could see she was lying. 

_You like this nigga, sis_ , God himself seemed to whisper to her on the next breeze. Making her scowl gently. 

She certainly did _not_. 

Her phone dings as she passes the fountain in the center of campus. She pulls it out to see a new message from Sanaa.

_I know you don’t really fuck with OnlyFans, but you gotta see this video!_

Hari’s palms begin to sweat as she clicks the link. Mouth dropping open when the woman’s luscious fro comes into view, her head thrown back in ecstasy as she bounces on Black Mamba’s thick thighs. Hari exits the video quickly, not wanting anyone walking near her to know she was watching porn at 11:00 in the morning.

_But that’s your business_ , her favorite influencer’s voice reminds her.

Clicking back over to the message, her thumbs fly across the screen quickly. 

**This is what you send me at 11:00 in the morning? You couldn’t even lead off with good morning? Wait till Jesus hears about this.**

_Good morning, Three. Did you watch the video of the big dick nigga I sent you?_

**I swear you get on my nerves. Yes, Five, I watched it.**

Mahari bites her lip gently, wondering if she should even type the next three words she’s thinking.

**I know him.**

Sanaa chokes on her cold brew before pressing the FaceTime button. How could Mahari fuss about Jesus knowing she was sending porn when she was out here hoarding fine ass, big-dicked niggas.

Hari groans before swiping to answer. Almost chuckling when all she could see of her best friend was her smooth forehead and curls. Just the tops of her large, nearly glowing brown eyes in view.

“Yes, Five? And before you ask, no, I don’t have games on my phone. ”

“Fuck all that! You know this big dick nigga?! And you ain’t tell ya main bitch? You fake!”

“Shh!” Mahari hushes in panic, head whipping around to make sure no one was in earshot of her. “I don’t have my Airpods in!”

“Ugh,” Sanaa groans impatiently. “Call me back when you get to your room!”

The call disconnects before Mahari can even respond.

“Rude,” she says, pocketing her phone, and heading to her next class.

* * *

Once the video stops playing, the pair sit in silence. The fresh bottle of Rosa Regale was empty between, and Sanaa now had even more questions than she had before. She had made the nearly hour-long trip over to Oakland U to hear this story in person as soon as Mahari had told her _exactly_ who Black Mamba was. 

“W-was,” Sanaa starts before licking her dry lips - all of her fluids flowing south. “Was that you?”

Mahari side-eyes her gently. She couldn’t blame her, the woman in the video did bear a very strong resemblance to her. But once the camera had caught the front of her and that well-known tattoo on her clavicle came into view she knew exactly who she was. 

Dinisha. 

“You’ve been my best friend my whole life, you know I’d _never_ do anything like this. Furthermore, I’m not that damn light-skinned _nor_ do I have tattoos.”

“Okay, sheesh,” Sanaa wine giggles before a thought occurs to her. “Ya know, I find it rather ironic that Teacher Nigga’s latest girl happens to be your light-skinned tethered.”

“His latest girl?” Hari asks, confusion lacing her tone. The nigga had a harem?

Sanaa nods before explaining further.

“He typically films with the same 2 girls: Blossom and Bubbles.”

“Does this nigga have a Powerpuff Girls kink? Please don’t tell me they call him Professor Plutonium.”

The two bust out laughing at that, nearly falling off of her couch. 

“Nah,” Sanaa says after collecting herself, a few giggles still spilling through. “They call him Daddy or Mamba.” After a beat of silence, she grins over at her. “I really can’t believe I been flicking the devil’s button to this nigga for almost three months and it was YO nigga the whole time.”

“Not my nigga,” Hari sing songs, picking up the empty bottle to bring to the recycle bin. 

“But he _could_ be,” Sanaa says, following her into the kitchen closely. Her best friend was being a little too quiet about this. “I think him fucking your doppelganger is proof that he finds you attractive.” 

Mahari shakes her head at that, mostly to dispel the thought. 

“He has more explicit videos,” she says in a quiet voice, hoping to change the subject.

“So my question to you is, are you still intere-- Nigga how you know about his other videos?!”

Heat pools her cheeks as she looks up her friend through her lashes.

“He may have sent me something through private chat?”

“MCSCUSE ME, BITCH?! What was the video?”

“It was a solo vid. He was on the edge of his bed, or couch, or whatever it was and he was jerking off. It was kinda hot,” Hari admits with a sheepish grin.

“Oh bitch, we are making an account, rat nao!” Sanaa announces. She walks back to Mahari’s bedroom to boot up her Mac, knowing the password was the date they met. 

“You need a clever username.”

“How about Khamisi?” Mahari offers, sitting next to her. 

_The nigga seems to love it seeing as how often he uses it._

“How about expose yourself to your damn GA and anyone else from your school that’s subscribed to his shit. No nigga! You need something discreet.”

Oh, duh. But what? Mahari looks around her room, searching for inspiration when her eyes land on her notebook. 

“Michiko?”

“That could work,” Sanaa nods, stroking her chin as though she were in deep thought. She navigates to Mahari’s dummy profile, scoffing at the username the website has given her.

“02091987? Why OnlyFans give you Michael B. Jordan’s birthday as a username? Ya, know, if you look hard and squint one eye, Teacher Nigga could pass for MBJ’s evil tethered.”

Mahari nodded. 

“And that nigga _is_ fine as every fuck, with his white woman loving ass.”

“These are facts,” Sanna giggled. “Anywhore, this gotta go.” Sanaa enters Hari’s new username, cursing upon realization that it’s already taken.

“How about Machichi?” Mahari offers? “Machici95?”

“Boom! We in hurr,” Sanaa exclaims, milly rocking aggressively next to her. 

“I cannot believe I even created this account,” Hari groans exaggeratedly. 

“Neither can I, which brings me back to my question before,” Sanaa says, putting the laptop to the side and giving her best friend her full attention. “So what you even trying to get outta this? You gone let him punch ya v-card? Although with the size of his dick that’s gone be like a damn molly wop. That shit is _not_ going to be gentle,” she grimaces.

“It’s just a crush, Five. It’s not like I’m asking for this nigga’s hand in marriage.”

“That may be true. However comma you didn’t see your face when he had shorty bent over that couch with her fro in his fist.”

Mahari’s body heats. That had been her _favorit_ e part. 

“Oh kaaaay?” she says, annoyed at being called out. “You had the same look. He can fuck. Why you think he got so many subscribers?”

“My face was a look of lust and mild appreciation. There was something else behind those fake green eyes, madam. Something you need to consider before you do something you might regret.”

“I don’t think so. Anyway, don’t you got class in the AM? You need to hit the road, Five.” 

Sanaa looks at the time and kisses her teeth.

“Shit! See, watching Sir Dicks A Lot got me fucking around bout to miss my damn seminar. Luckily traffic is light this time of day.”

“We like big dicks and we cannot lie,” Mahari sings annoyingly, popping her ass on the bed gently when Sanaa stands to collect her things.

“Goodbye, Three!”

The two hug tightly before Sanaa leaves out with a promise to text her when she’s made it safely home. 

The time gap gives Mahari an hour's worth of time to do nothing but sit and contemplate Sanaa’s words as she waits. 

_He’s just your GA and it’s a stupid crush._

Only that wasn’t entirely true. Yeah, she did have a stupid crush on him but this started well before she knew he had a pornstar stroke. She was crushing on his intelligence and the air of mystery that seemed to follow him wherever he went. Mahari desired to know who he was more than she wanted to know his body. A combination that when coupled with his aloofness and a general air of non-commitment could easily lead to heartbreak. Ain't nobody had time for that.

“Fuck this shit, I’m about to watch another video. I ain’t about to let my feelings make me waste my damn $15.99.”

She clicks his profile, scrolling through the throws of new content before settling on another solo video. Watching him with another woman wasn’t good for her with the direction her thoughts had taken.

“Let me get some more damn wine,” Hari pants, disappointment flashing across her face when her hand grabs the empty bottle.

“Aww shit,” she gulps and his moans fill her room. She watches the video in awe, her bottom lip wedged between her teeth as his hand slides up and down his length. She sits on her hands to keep from diving knuckles deep into her honey pot. 

Just as he’s about to cum, she exits the browser and closes her MacBook, fanning herself quickly. 

“Let me go take a shower and pray. Nigga lucky I can’t burn sage in this damn dorm. Bringing this demonic energy into my ghatdamn sanctum.”

In her absence her phone pings to life with a new notification. 

_Black Mamba: Looks like you’ll be sticking around then, huh, Machichi._


	4. Estetichians Gone Wild Vol. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aight, here’s another chapter of the shit I swore I wasn’t gone write lol. We got a lot of movement here and some of the smuts. I know how much y’all like that lol. Just...keep an image of noo noo in y’all mind, okay?
> 
> With love and big dicks,
> 
> Vanity & Ash

Over the years, Erik found himself traveling home less and less. It wasn’t that he didn’t like being there, that was quite the opposite actually. But with his mounting classes, mother’s traveling schedule, and the hours his father was putting in at the clinic, there weren’t many times that the three of them could _actually_ be together at once. 

Thankfully, the planets had aligned and opened a rare opportunity of having family dinner that Erik was _not_ going to miss. 

Not like his mother would even let him.

The familiar chime of her ringtone pulls a smile across his face. _She always knew when she crossed his mind._

“Yes my beloved,” he answers, sounding every bit like his father.If she weren’t so upset with him, she’d have returned his sentiment.

“Oh so you _are_ alive,” her thick French accent bellows through the receiver. “Have you forgotten where home is?”

“No ma’am,” Erik tries to pacify before she cuts him off again.

“So when _exactly_ do you plan to bring your narrow black ass home?”

Erik blows raspberries with his lips before responding.

“First of all _Ava_ , everybody knows I got your hips, so ain’t _a thing_ narrow over here,” he chuckles, pulling the phone away from his ear when she starts cursing him out in her native tongue.

“Je ne sais pas à qui tu crois parler mais tu as une heure pour avoir ton cul noir ici,” she screeches.

“Yo, ma chill! I’m coming down the street now,” he explains. 

Her voice softens at this, switching back to English.

“Oh,” she breathes. “Drive safe baby.” The line disconnects. 

Even as he rolls his eyes at her antics, warmth blooms in his chest. The sight of the familiar green 67 Chevy Impala pulling into the driveway before him made him smile as well.

“The prodigal son returns,” N’Jobu teases as soon as Erik exits the vehicle. 

“So both of y’all with the shits today? Okay,” Erik nods. “Real funny pops.”

“I’m always with the shits,” his father chuckles before clapping him on the back. “No, what’s funny is your best friend coming home before you. How’d you manage to let Chauncey beat you here?”

Erik kisses his teeth and looks towards the heavens. 

“Who even _invited_ this nigga?”

“ _This nigga_ does _not_ need an invite. I’m always welcome in the Stevens/Udaku household. Thank you very much.”

“This is true,” N’Jobu says.

“Ugh, whatever.”

“Look at my boys,” Ava grins when the three heads enter her kitchen moments later, still bickering as usual. 

N’Jobu rounds the counter, placing a loving kiss on Ava’s forehead, cheeks, and lips. 

For as many years as his parents have been together, they were still very much in love. Stealing kisses and meaningful touches whenever they could, no matter who was watching. 

A fact that suddenly tugged at Erik’s heartstrings uncomfortably. 

“Aye, y’all need to chill with all that. I’m too old to be anybody’s big brother.”

“But you asked for a brother,” Ava reminds with a cheeky smile. “Remember?”

“Yeah, when I was _four._ And then the universe gave me this nigga,” Erik says, pointing a thumb at his best friend behind him. “Honestly, I’m starting to think the universe gave me a sister in a boy’s body,” Erik teases.

“And as brooding as you are, you love this nigga so shut ya ass up,” Chauncey sasses.

“Do I _really_ though?”

“Anyway, you want me to go get the wine from the cellar, ma?”

“If you wouldn’t mind, yes. Thank you,” Ava responds as she lays her head on her husband’s chest. 

“That could be you, but you playing,” Chauncey grins as he passes Erik. 

“Playing?” Erik questions following his friend down the stairs to the cool, dry basement. The walls are lined with bottles of every size, shape and color from his parent’s travels. 

“Nigga _you know_ what I mean. You’re damn near 30, still acting like you don’t wanna be in love.”

“Here we go with this shit again,” Erik rolls his eyes as Chauncey picks up his mom’s favorite white wine. “I didn’t come down here to talk to you about your fantasies. Why you rat me out?”

Chauncey smirks, knowing full well what Erik was referring to.

“Boy please! Super Snooper would’ve found out regardless! Every other conversation is ‘Erik this, and Erik that.’ The way she acts, you’d swear you been serving her your dick on a silver platter. Speaking of dick, did you give it to her?”

“That aint the point, nigga.” Erik fires back, arms crossed.

“So you _did_? How was it on a scale of magnificent to bitch what the fuck is this shit?”

“Nigga can you focus for _one second_ ,” Erik asks, pushing his glasses up to rub the bridge of his nose. “She could have exposed me. You eva think of that?”

“But she didn’t, and you’re welcome by the way. Now answer my question. Scratch that, I’ll just watch it later. I know it was good.”

“I can’t fuckin’ stand yo ass.”

“Then sit, hoe cause I ain’t leaving.”

“And _why_ are you subscribed to my OnlyFans again?”

“Nigga support black businesses.”

As the two start their journey back upstairs, Chauncey switches gears.

“Aight, enough about Caramel Drop Thunder Thot,” he announces. “What the people _really_ wanna know is what happened when you took Little Miss _Khamisi_ home the other day? You neglected to inform me.”

“What was there to tell?” Erik asks, keeping his voice light. He knew his best friend could smell bullshit a whole plantation away. Especially when it came to him. “I walked her back to her crib and made sure she was good.”

“Made sure she was good?” he asks, pausing at the top of the steps to turn back with a smile. “Oh? You took sis’ temperature? You used your dick _or_?”

 _This nigga,_ Erik groans internally before pushing past him.

“C’mon E, tell the truth and shame the Devil. You only chose to fuck with Dinisha because she’s the Slut Master 5000 version of the little virgin.”

“Bruh! You’re the _second_ person to call her a virgin,” Erik blurts out with a squint in his eyes.

“Nigga! Ray Charles and Stevie Wonder could see that her little inexperienced ass has your nose wide open. Ole isn’t she lovely headass,” Chauncey finishes as they step back into the kitchen.

Erik kisses his teeth and lowers his voice as he follows, conscious of his parents not fully out of earshot. 

“How many times I gotta tell you and C that I don’t fuck with my students?”

“Number one, nigga, you’re _not_ a teacher. Number two, ain’t nobody said a thing about you fucking her. I said _like_.”

“I swear I don’t know why I put up with your ass,” Erik broods.

“Whatever yo. Just keep fucking her evil twin or whatever you doing,” Chauncey walks away, belting the chorus to Isn’t She Lovely loudly.

“Oh I love that song,” his mother remarks before handing a few plates from the cabinet behind him. “Go set the table and do _not_ put bananas on Chauncey’s plate this time.”

“I mean, he’s an ape and that’s what they eat,” Erik calls with a smile.

“You lucky Mama Ava standing right there or I’d tell you something vulgar,” Chauncey retorts with a roll of his neck.

“We all know what kind of bananas you _really_ eat, Chauncey,” N’Jobu interjects with a smile.

“Oooowwwww,” Chauncey calls back before he sashays away to get the wine opener.

“Niggas wanna skee wee _so bad_ ,” Erik says, mimicking Teresa Topnotch.

“Don’t play with me, nigga. Those colors are terrible together.”

“He’s not wrong about that,” Ava calls, dusting the elephant statue on the mantle.

* * *

After dinner, Erik and Chauncey sit back on the sofa watching Ava and N’Jobu twirl around the den. N’Jobu drops Ava into a dramatic dip, shooting Erik a sly smile when their eyes meet.

“This is the move that got her, son,” he smiles before righting her once more.

“And _this_ is the move that got him,” Ava grins, bending her knees to throw it back like she used to.

“What I just tell you niggas? I ain’t babysitting nothing if you get pregnant, Ava,” Erik fusses goodnaturedly before the soft sound of bubbles popping pulls his attention to his phone.

_**Bubble Blower:** Mamba, when you gone come give me my facial? _

His dick gives a very telling twitch in his tech fleece. Apart from the fact that Amber gives _immaculate, soul-shaking head_ , every single video he’s posted featuring his beloved Bubbles did numbers. 

Erik glances up at his parents before cutting his eyes at an all-knowing Chauncey. 

“You going downtown, ain’t you?” he questions, swirling his wine glass. 

“Mmhm,” Erik hums back as he answers the message. 

**Mamba4Eva** _: you closing shop tonight?_

**Bubble Blower:** _yessss, come now. My mom just took her last customer._

 **Mamba4Eva:** _omw. Finna give yo ass lockjaw._

“You’re leaving already?” Ava asks as her son rises from the couch. 

Erik nods, pocketing his phone. 

“I’m gonna give Amber a ride home. She’s closing.”

“Okay, give her my love,” Ava smiles. 

“And _yours_ ,” Chauncey mutters, making Erik flip him off.

“I’ll be back soon,” he says before planting a kiss to his mom’s cheek. 

“Translation: It’ll be 3-5 business months before I see you again, noted,” his mother teases as he walks towards the front door.

“You really don’t have any faith in me, do you?”

“Nope, because I know my son,” Ava concludes, throwing a hand on her hip for added emphasis.

“See, just for that Ima prove you wrong,” Erik challenges as he slides behind the wheel of his beloved Spyder.

“I’ll be waiting.”

* * *

Erik pulls up to the spa, parking his car in the space closest to the door for a quick getaway. Passions Day Spa is one of the most popular spas in all of Oakland, specializing in everything from microdermabrasion to body contouring. Amber’s mother opened the shop while she was still in high school, later hiring her daughter as lead esthetician once she finished school.

He walks in, eyes low from the backwood he smoked on the way there, small Gucci camera bag in hand. Amber had once expressed how much she loved his blazed out look, so he often got high before seeing her. She stood behind the counter, blonde hair tucked neatly into a loose ponytail and hot pink scrubs fitting her petite frame nicely. She glances up, almost beaming when she sees him. Suddenly, the last patron was taking entirely too long to pay for her service.

“Erik!” Mrs. Diaz calls as she steps from behind the curtain that divides the front of the store from the massage rooms. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. You look just like your beautiful mother.”

Erik flashes his signature smile, the one he knew would make Amber’s knees weak.

“Thanks, Mama Diaz. I apologize for dropping by so late, Ambs asked me to give her a ride home.”

“Oh, I could have done that,” she says quizzically, glancing back at her daughter. 

“Yeah, I know. But I was going to treat her to a creamsicle from Magic Fountain and catch up with her on the way there.”

Amber coughs to hide her whimper at the thought of what Erik had planned.

“Her and those damn creamsicles. Behind is gonna turn into one eventually. And she wonders why her skin breaks out sometimes,” Mrs. Diaz says with a shake of her head. “Alright. Amber, make sure you lock up tight. It was good to see you again, Erik. Tell your parents I said hello.”

“Will do, Mama Diaz. Make sure you tell pops hello for me.”

“Bye Ma!” Amber calls before turning her impatient gaze on the silver fox in front of her. “Mrs. Patterson, please. I need to lock up. And your husband has been outside waiting for you for the past ten minutes.”

“Just one minute, child. I know that loyalty card is in here somewhere,” the older woman states, not pulling her gaze from her pocketbook.

“We can just apply the rewards later. Here.” Amber says, handing over the bag and rounding the counter to grab her elbow. “Thank you so much for coming. I’ll see you next week. And _please_ remember to apply your SPF.”

Erik chuckles as the older woman leaves the building.

“White people stay feeling like they immune from everything. Even the damn sun,” Amber fusses finally able to lock the building up for the night.

“Anxious are we?” he asks with a sly smirk that sends all of Amber’s blood to her core. The steady thumping between her legs had grown more and more persistent the longer Erik stood sizing her up.

“Shuddup!” she pouts, crossing the threshold to their room. Instead of actual lighting, small scented candles line the northern wall of the room, accenting the violet hue of the walls. Selenite, black obsidian and amethyst crystals accompany the wax jar and extra towels on the eastern wall, while two speakers rest in the upper right-hand corner. On the rare occasions where he actually got serviced, he’d ask her to play Wakandan meditation music. 

“Ooh, someone’s feisty too. You missed Mamba that much, Bubbles?”

Amber didn’t respond verbally, instead, she grabbed the camera bag from him. Carefully, she removed the sleek, black Canon EOS M50, propping it against the hot wax jar for an optimal view. She and Erik both loved the camera because of how crisp their videos came out.

“Yo, if any of that shit gets on my camera or my lens, that’s yo ass,” he threatens.

“Didn’t I tell you to hush?” Amber asks before dimming the lights and coming to sink to her knees in front of him. Eagerness coats her features as she reaches up to pull him out of his sweats. Nearly squealing when she finds no draws in sight. 

_Freeballing again_ , she laughs internally. 

“Who you think you talking to, Dr. Pimple Popper?” he growls, thumping his hardening length against her lips. “You betta say ‘ahh’ like a good girl before I give someone else this sweet nectar you crave so much.”

Amber wastes no time. She pulls her head back, opening her mouth as wide as she can and looks up at him through her lashes. Drool nearly drips off her tongue at how excited she was making Erik cuss under his breath.

 _Whew! I forgot this bitch had the Soul Snatcher for a throat_ , he thinks as soon as he slides neatly to the back of her throat.

Erik reaches back, using the wall to hold himself up as Amber sucks all of his life force from his body. 

“Who taught you how to suck dick this good, you nasty bitch?” he questions on a particularly knee-buckling suckle. 

“You did, Mamba,” Amber moans, her mouth still stuffed with his meat.

“Mamba taught you well,” he coos, gently stroking her cheek, smearing his thumb around her swollen lips as she continues to bob up and down on his thick shaft. He loved the way her mouth stretched around him like she could barely take him in. She was one of the few who could. “You missed this dick, didn’t you?”

“Mmm,” she moans and swallows around him. What had only been a week had felt nearly like a month of missing this. Face fucking was Amber’s number one kink and Erik was an expert at his craft.

“Fuuuck,” Erik hisses and cups the back of her head ready to take over the show. He wasn’t going to last with the way she was sucking him like Noo Noo from The Teletubbies. Thick spit coats every inch of his dick, dripping down his balls and into his sweats as he works himself faster with her throat. The loud choking noises sound like the most beautiful music to his ear. His eyes nearly roll back into his skull before he forces himself to focus in, not wanting to miss even a second of Amber’s lewd expression.

“Shit. Keep doing that shit and this Mamba gone spit all over that pretty little face of yours,” he threatens as beads of sweat collect on his forehead. “You want Mamba Juice on ya face, Bubbles?”

She nods anxiously, her own eyes low like his dick was her drug. Popping off, she pleads gently to him as she strokes him just the way he likes.

“Paint my face, Mamba,” she moans before pushing his entire length down her throat.

“Shit…fuck! Damn,” he curses after a few deeper strokes and just before he pulls back and empties his balls onto her face. Breathing hard and lowly keening through the entire experience. 

Her expression was one of pure bliss and satisfaction. This is all she had been dreaming of for weeks and it finally happened. 

Erik reaches over her head to grab his camera, angling it down to her face.

“Blow the people some bubbles, babygirl,” he instructs. She happily obliges, blowing a few of different sizes before licking the remaining cum from her top lip.

“Tastes like honey,” she compliments before Erik ends the video.

He readjusts himself in his sweats before tossing her a towel to clean herself up and takes a few seconds to get his barrings. In all honesty, his legs were a little weak from the strength of his orgasm, but he wasn’t about to let Amber know that. Her head was already big enough. 

Erik turns to find her in the mirror, scooping his cum into a small, glass jar.

“Girl what the fuck you doing?” he booms, startling her slightly.

“What the fuck it look like I’m doing?” she asks calmly. “I’m bottling your cum. You don’t come home enough and I need my facials when you ain’t here.”

“So whenever you think about a nigga, you just gone rub my nut on ya face?” he questions with a raise of a thick eyebrow.

“No, nigga. I use it with the rest of my skincare routine. This shit cleared up my acne in a week so in all honesty, I should thank you.”

Erik was taken aback. Though he knew semen was protein-packed, he didn’t think it was powerful enough to cure acne.

 _Maybe I should bottle this shit my damn self_ , he thinks before turning his attention back to Amber.

“You better not be using this shit on your clients,” he snaps playfully.

“Of course not, Mamba,” she purrs sweetly. “This right here is our little secret. My own personal skincare Holy Grail. Now, about my creamsicle,” she retorts, grabbing her phone and other personal belongings from her locker.

“You just got it. I got some papers to grade so I ain’t tryna be out too late. I’ll call you later on this week. I actually need to get serviced.”

“Drop by Friday. I have an open five o’clock spot that comes complete with a happy ending,” she smirks.

“Pencil me in,” he calls with a wink before heading towards the exit. “You need me to give you a ride home or you gone catch an Uber?” 

“My car is out back, I just didn’t want moms to be suspicious about you being here.”

“Aight. Catch ya next time, Bubbles.”

“Bye Mamba.”

* * *

The air in California was much different than he was used to. Though it was a lot cooler in climate, it held a smell that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He steps out of his blacked-out Porsche Panamera and looks up at the building he would be staying in, scowling at the fact that it looked a lot smaller than the pictures led on.

He keeps his head low as he passes a few occupants of the apartment building. Unlike his father, he was a bit antisocial and distrusting. Especially when it came to Americans. None the less he had a mission and he fully intended to complete it. 

Stepping inside the building he sends a quick mental thanks to his team. The building was well lit, in a decent neighborhood, and updated with the “finest” security system upgrades in a twenty-mile radius of the university. 

He tongues at the inside of his lip, the skin still tingling from the session a few hours prior as he waits to reach his assigned floor. It had taken much coaxing to get his father to even consider the idea of his only son going out into the unknown. 

_“It’s a rite of passage,” he remembered explaining to his father for what felt like the millionth time._

_“One you do not have to complete. Have you forgotten what happened the last time one of us took this on? How it tore our family apart?”_

_“Yes. He met a woman and they fell in love, producing a child in the process. When has alienation been something you couldn’t control?” he questioned hotly._

_“When it is done to protect the people I love.”_

_“Protect?” he questioned before laughing bitterly. “If that’s what you call love, I’ll be nothing like you.”_

It took several talks with his mother before his father’s blessing was begrudgingly granted. He was on a plane less than ten hours later.

Fatigue weighs so heavily on his shoulders that he barely takes in the decor around him when he enters his flat. Instead, he slumps down in the large chair staged in his office, pulling up the files he’s been pouring over since receiving them. Memorizing faces, persons of interest, and key locations he would need to visit in order to gather the intel necessary to send back home.

Two weeks was all he was given. A longer amount of time than he had actually anticipated. It was more time than strictly needed but he would milk every second he could. 

He had something to prove, after all.

Soft blue light emitting from his right wrist caught his attention and made him smile. Not even a full day from home and she was already calling.

“What is it now?” he chuckles when he patches the call through, happy to see her face.

“I see you finally made it, brother. How was your flight?”

* * *

The drive home was peaceful. Erik’s thoughts drifted from his mother’s bright smile at his presence to Amber’s face dripping with his freshly spewn baby gravy. To say that his day had been eventful was an understatement.

He pats his full belly and glances over at the two full pyrex dishes on his passenger seat. His mother packed the plates with a hefty amount of leftovers, even slipping over half the dish of apple pie in with the rest of his spoils. He may not have room for the confection now, but he was going to fuck it up when he got home 

The familiar ding of his cellphone alerts him that his latest video is ready for posting and anticipation grips him gently, forcing his foot further down on the accelerator. 

He waits until he’s safely back home to log back into the app, surprised to see a new message from Machichi95.

_Machici95:Your content aight or whatever._

“Just aight?” he chuckles to himself. “Damn, tough crowd.” 

Erik purses his lips, contemplating whether or not he should gift her the video before everyone else. Being of royal descent, money wasn’t the issue. He truly enjoys having others watch him perform. He smirks, resolving to send her a snippet of the last 30 seconds.

**Black Mamba: Just aight? Damn. Check this out and let me know how you feel about it.**

He stares at the username, wondering if the stranger behind Machichi95 was really his favorite innocent virgin. The thought sends a zing through his blood and has him licking his lips in pleasure. 

_Nah, Hari wouldn’t be on something like thi_ s, he says internally before closing the app. He briefly thinks back to a conversation he had with Chanel in which she pointed out that virgins didn’t use OnlyFans.

_Why would they pay for something they could see on Pornhub for free?_

A valid point was made. Only true freaks visited sites like OnlyFans. His content would probably give poor Mahari Khamisi a heart attack. 

Erik was just about to start on the stack of ungraded assignments before a new message from Machichi caught his attention.

_Machichi95: Post it._

He raises an eyebrow at her straightforward response. 

**BlackMamba: That’s it? No compliments or nothing?**

Her next message came quick, like she was sitting with her phone in hand.

_Machichi95: Nigga are you really in my DMs fishing for compliments about your stroke? Look at your follower count, you don’t need the validation. Plus, she did all the work if we really being honest…_

One thing was for sure, she was definitely a little flip mouthed thing.

“Feisty little bitch,” he mused aloud with a lopsided grin before his thumbs tapped out his response. 

**You touched yourself to this, didn’t you?**

_Machichi95: Mind ya business, mAmBa_

No you didn’t just Spongebob me… Ok Machichi.

Machichi95: gOoDbYe mAmBa

“This lil nigga sent me the damn Spongebob meme!” Erik cackles loudly, shoulders shaking in his seat. This girl was a fucking trip and a half and he would be lying like shit if he didn’t admit that he was really interested in if her face matched her attitude. 

_She probably cute as shit,_ he sighs gently before locking and pocketing his phone once he regains his composure. Whoever little Machichi was, Erik was sure he had just met his new favorite subscriber.

* * *

“Sooo… David apologized,” Hari explains as she delicately wraps her hair up in her satin scarf, trying hard not to disturb the silk press her mother had just given her. Sanaa had Facetimed to tell her that a few of her pieces had been selected to be displayed at a local gallery and conversation just progressed from there.

“Oh?” Sanaa called out in surprise. “Monkey Man apologizes? Whodathunkit?”

“Right?” Hari giggles, before picking up her phone to answer Mamba’s latest message. After watching him face fuck a girl who blow bubbles with his cum, it was very hard to think of him as just Teacher Nigga Erik.

“Mahari Khamisi Owens, if you pause me one more damn time! What the hell you over there looking at?!” Sanaa’s shrill tone pulls Hari’s face back into view.

“Okay okay, relax. I was answering a message.”

“What message? Who you over there texting?”

“This wanna be Slytherin mascot nigga,” she explains, climbing into her bed.

“Oooh, you got another message from King Dingaling. What y’all talking about?”

“First of all, don’t you ever in your natural black life call him that again,” Hari fusses, unable to keep the humor from her voice.

“But am I wrong though?”

Hari’s silence told her everything she needed to know.

“Thought so, now answer my question.”

“Well, see…,” Mahari says before launching into a very detailed account of the video Mamba had blessed her with.

“Oh, fuck,” Sanaa nearly moans into her pillow after Hari wraps up the story. “I cannah wait until he fucking posts this shit.”

“The girl blew bubbles _with his cum_ ,” Hari includes.

“Oh she always does that,” Sanaa laughs at the incredulous expression on her friend’s face. “Was he wrong though? You finger popped ya shit to him sis?”

Hari buries her hot face into the pillow near her. 

“Why do you have to say it like that?” 

“Biiiiitch! You flicked your devil button to Teacher Nigga?! Ya nasty.”

“Oh like you haven’t?” she shot back.

“Girl I was flicking my shit every other night and between classes but we not talmbout me.” Sanaa smirk widens. “Lemme find out you got an oral fixation.”

“ _Good night_ , Five.”

Sanaa fell back on her bed with laughter. 

“Good night, Three. I hope your dreams are filled with nothing but cum shots and nocturnal emission.”

“Aww thanks,” Mahari says with a sweet smile. “I knew you loved me.”

“You so damn aggy, bruh!” Sanaa groans exasperatedly before ending the call. She made a note to start taking new best friend applications. Hers was obviously defective.

* * *

The soft melodic voice of Faye Maena fills Hari’s ears as she gathers the study materials she’s collected over the weekend. Dr. Watson’s midterm was one of those tests that everyone considered a “make or break” moment in their pre-med career. She’d heard countless horror stories from a few of the upperclassmen that frequented the library over the two semesters she’s worked there. Anything from silently swearing at the scantron sheet to openly sobbing could be expected on Thursday and Mahari was determined to fall onto the brighter edge of the very colorful spectrum of outcomes. 

“You got this, sis,” she hypes herself up as she slips on the long denim jacket she’s pulled out of the back of her closet, wanting to give her sweats a little more of an elevated look. 

Transferring the music from her speaker to her headphones, Mahari grabs her things and leaves out for class. 

“Letsa goooooo,” she whispers to herself with a chuckle.

It was that time of year where the foliage changes finally touched down in their area. Full-bodied colors of reds, oranges, and yellows seemed to take over the entire campus nearly overnight filling Hari’s autumn loving heart. The desire to frolic through the fallen leaves was high but she tamped down on the emotion, choosing to sing lowly instead. 

“I just want your hands around my throoooaaatt,” she crooned in a vain attempt of reaching Ari’s alto. “Sooooo ooooohhh, just a little choooooke.”

“Oh word? Lil innocent Khaleesi likes to be choked? Noted.”

Hari’s entire face flushed to match the bright red of the leaves. Of course this nigga would walk up while she was listening to one of her favorite songs.

Hari turns slowly to his advancing figure. Much like her, he was sporting his own, slightly destroyed denim shirt that he had sitting over a pair of camo jeans. Her eyes bounce from his combat boots up into his smiling eyes when he speaks again.

“Okay sweat and Jordans, but make it fashion,” Erik teases as he gets closer to her, looking her over with an appreciative gaze. 

“You just gotta be aggy, huh? Can’t ever just compliment a girl and go.”

“You right, my fault,” Erik says, a playful smirk tickling the corners of his mouth. “I see you with the straight hair, serving Dragon Mother realness,” he chuckles.

“It is known,” Mariah answers in passing.

 _How is this nigga always around? Is she stalking him?_ Hari questions to herself before issuing a playful threat.

“Keep on, Ima throw my notebook at ya head this time, Riah,” she chuckles.

“Why you so violent? You got a Napoleon complex or sumn?” Erik questions, bumping her with his shoulder gently to get her moving towards the Science Hall again.

“You really want me to beat yo ass on this fine Thursday, huh Teacher Nigga? And here I was about to compliment you on ya drip.“

“Talk that nasty shit to me, Khamisi,” he leers with a lecherous wink, opening the door for her. “And you the one tryna lowkey match my fly. You really fuck with a nigga, huh Hari?”

She huffs and rolls her eyes, not even bothering to dignify him with a response as she heads towards her seat.

“Fix ya face,” Mariah calls to David as she slides into the seat behind him. He didn’t even realize he had been staring. Mahari and Erik seemed to have grown closer in the last few days and David is hard-pressed to admit it bothers him. 

_It definitely bothered him._

“I don’t know what you talking about,” he lies.

“Uh-huh. Sure you don’t, lover boy,” she says with a shrug.

David flips her off before turning his gaze back to Mahari.

“You look nice,” he compliments, attempting to ignore the situation growing in his pants at the sight of Hari’s freshly straightened hair. There wasn’t a thing wrong with it curly. But the sleekness brushing against his bare arm with every subtle move she made to get her desk setup had him picturing it wrapped around his fist as he pounded into her from behind.

_Focus nigga._

Her smile is as sweet as she smells, thanking him just as Dr. Watson enters the classroom.

“Good morning class,” he calls out, patting his portly belly. “I was going to go over causes and consequences of inadequate management of acute pain as outlined in the syllabus but,” he turned and regards Erik for a moment, “a little birdie convinced me to use the hour to solely focus on the midterm study guide.” 

“You the muthafuckin GOAT!” Mariah screams from her seat causing an outpour of applause and joyous shouting.

 _Finally this nigga is good for something_ , Mahari silently praises.

“Okay, settle down,” Dr. Watson chuckles deeply. “We will go over the study guide in its entirety and, if there is any time after, I will hold a Q&A”

“Make sure you pay attention this time,” Erik says to Mahari as he hands over copies of the study guide to pass behind her. 

“Shut yo aggy ass up,” Hari mumbles back to him. 

“Speak up, Princess. Closed mouths don’t get fed in my classroom,” Erik taunts.

“This ain’t even _your_ classroom,” she pouts silently.

The rest of the hour is extremely informative. As promised, Dr. Watson went over each bullet point listed on the study sheet, answering the few questions Hari had scribbled down before they had even reached the unfortunately short Q&A session. Loud groans filled the hall when the Doctor announced he only had time for two more questions, citing that the class had already gone over five minutes and he needed to set up for his next group. 

But Hari has enough in her notebook that she felt confident she would at least get a passing grade. Though she truly wanted to keep her perfect grade point average. She would have to put in some time over the next few days if she wanted to reach her goal. 

She might as well pull someone along for the ride.

“You wanna meet in the library and study together tonight?” Mahari asks David once class is dismissed.

He groans internally, cursing Chauncey and the rest of the chapter for scheduling a meeting tonight of all nights. Niggas swear the cared about academics until it came time to care about academics.

“I would, but we got a mandatory chapter meeting tonight. Depending on how long it lasts, I can swing by once it’s over,” he offers. He really needed to study and doing so with Mahari had _several_ perks to it.

“That’s fine,” she says, packing up the rest of her belongings.

“Aight, I’ll see you later,” David says before jogging off. He wanted to get a few things out of the way to clear his schedule to even have a chance of making it to their _study date_. 

Erik stands leaning against the desk, waiting until the rest of the class left before addressing her.

“So Little Miss Khamisi needs a study partner tonight, huh? I could help with that if you’d like,” his deep voice taking a tone that hit Hari straight in her lady parts.

“Who?” she asks looking around the empty hall comically. “I know not _you_ , especially since you couldn’t even answer my questions last week,” she sasses, tossing her bag onto her shoulder.

“You mean the questions you ain’t have?” he challenges with a suspicious lift of an eyebrow.

“Put that caterpillar down, that’s not even the point.”  
  
“You really coming for a nigga today, Khaleesi,” he calls as he steps closer. He bends down so that they’re eye level and lowers his voice to an octave deeper than she saw him drill Chanel prior to class. “You must want me to pull you over my knee and give you the spanking your daddy should’ve.”

Hari stands mouth agape, unable to visualize anything other than what he’d just said. She’s sure she looks as arousingly stumped as she feels but she can’t even begin to wipe the expression off her face as she gazes into his deep stare. An antelope caught in headlights.

_First of all, nigga yes!_

Erik smirks, taking her silence as a means to continue his speech.

“So I’ll ask again,” he starts, tucking a piece of hair behind her small, pierced ear just to feel her skin, “you need a study partner or not?”

Mahari nearly answers “Yes, Daddy,” but instead nods, not trusting her own voice in the moment. 

“Cool,” he backs out of her space suddenly. “Take my number and text me when you make it to the library,” he instructs, reaching for her phone. 

_Well that was easy_ , she thinks as he types his number into the keypad before calling himself so that he’d have hers as well.

“See you tonight, Khaleesi,” he smirks, picking up his bag and leaving her there shook.

“I am _so_ fucked,” she whispers to herself.

 _You have no idea, Princess_ , he thinks to himself.

* * *

It’s around 9 o’clock when Mahari texts Aggy Teacher Nigga to let him know she was on her way to the library. She’d planned to text him sooner but had gotten lost in reading _It_. Though she’s seen both versions of the movie, there was something about reading the actual novel that boosted the scare factor for her.

He responds, letting her know that he was already there and to meet him in study room four. Hari contemplates Facetiming Sanaa for some company along the walk but immediately decides against it. The last thing she needed was Sanaa encouraging her to pop her pussy in the nonfiction section.

Butterflies begin to wreak havoc in her stomach as soon as she pulls the heavy door open and waves over at Oaklyn. She truly hadn’t realized that she’d willingly agreed to be cooped up in the library with this nigga after the sun went down. He flirts with her unabashedly in front of an audience, she had no idea what he was going to be capable of when they were _alone_. 

Her brain mockingly begins to sing Just The Two of Us as she taps her foot anxiously on the elevator. 

Although Erik was a flirty flirting headass nigga who flirts, she also knew he was harmless. Well… as harmless as a nigga who slings dick the way he does could be. 

_Mahari,_ her brain calls, you in danger, girl.

“Shutup,” she whispers to herself before pulling the door open to Study Room Four.

Inside, she finds him seated in the corner furthest from the large floor to ceiling windows. The black drifit hoodie clings to his muscles like it is painted on and the gray sweats he wore left _nothing_ to the imagination.

_Is this nigga freeballing?_

“Heeey Khamisi,” he sings playfully, leaning back in his chair, twirling a pen in his hand.

“Dawg, I’ve been in here 0.5 seconds. Must you commence the headassery so soon?”

“Headassery is part of my charm, m’lady,” he grins, earning a deep eye-roll from Mahari. This was about to be a _long_ session.

To Hari’s surprise, the pair settle into a casual study session, with Erik being a little less aggravating than usual. He explains the study questions in explicit detail, Anesthesiology for Dummies, he calls it.

“You callin’ me a dummy, nigga?”

“If the glass slipper fits, wear it Khaleesirella.”

“Ima punch you in the damn face, nigga.”

It’s not until she stands and stretches nearly an hour into their session, that something catches her attention. A certain blue lounge chair in the corner that has her eyes nearly bucking out of her skull. 

_Wait a second,_ she thinks to herself. _This nasty ass nigga. What if he’s planning on filming this?_

Her breathing quickens slightly before reason settles in once more.

_Bitch chill, it’s just a study session._

“Wassup witchu?” Erik questions when he notices her change in mood. 

“Nothing,” she lies. 

“Lying really ain’t ya strong suit,” he counters. “What’s on that pretty ass mind, hm?”

“Ain’t nobody lying, Teacher Nigga. And how you know my mind pretty? It could be a dark and mysterious tomb filled with poisonous gases and such.”

Erik’s eyes smolder at that as he leans in closer to her. 

“Not darker than mine, Princess.”

“Yeah, I bet yours is disgusting,” Hari sneers, closing her notebook. 

“You have no clue.”

Mahari pulls her lip through her teeth. This would be the perfect time to ask some really hard questions. Like who exactly was “C” or Blossom or whatever he was calling her today. Or why he chose to create the account in the first place. She could tell by his swag that he either had money or came from money, so that didn’t seem to be the real end goal. So why?

She also wanted to know why he chose Dinisha as his new PowerPuff selection but something told her she might get more of an answer than she bargained for.

Mahari had just opened her mouth to speak when her phone vibrated loudly against the table.

**Monkey Man:** _Hey just got out of the chapter meeting, you still there?_

Hari side-eyes her phone before flipping it onto its face. The action piques Erik’s interest.

“Who that?” he asks, attempting to peek over her shoulder.

“None of ya business,” she deflects, sliding the device away from his prying eyes.

“It’s ya nigga ain’t it? Ooh, Little Innocent Mahari a cheater. Lemme see,” he tries again, standing to attempt to grab it. Erik laughs heartily, leaning over Mahari’s cowering frame.

Any slick words Mahari may have dies as soon as she looks up at him. He was much closer than she expects and his scent fills the air around her. The dark scent of pine, oak, moss, and danger engulf her swiftly as the shiny metal of his cuban link dangles in her face. For the second time in less than twelve hours, Mahari founds herself stuck in the presence of this stupidly attractive nigga. Her mouth waters and she’s sure that if she tries to speak now, Niagara Falls will erupt from her throat.

The spaced-out look on Hari’s face makes Erik smirk.

“You in that trance again, Khamisi. Wassup?”

Hari blinks twice before her usual demeanor resets and her face clears.

“Nigga get ya big lips out of my face!” she squeaks, causing Erik to chuckle.

“They look soft don’t they?” Erik asks in all his aggy in glory, leaning forward towards her face. His warm, minty breath tickles her lips when he asks, “You wanna feel?”

_Yes, but nigga mind your business._

Still no words form, her eyes are round as saucers and purely innocent. So innocent that Erik finds himself leaning in closer before he can stop. His weren’t the only lips that looked soft.

“You good, Hari?” he calls, hooking his finger under her chin to tilt her head up. Fighting the urge to ghost his thumb across her enticing, full lips. 

Hari playfully pushes at his chest, unintentionally allowing her fingers to rest against his perfectly sculpted pecs before pulling her hand away.

“Nigga back up! This ain’t social distancing!”

Erik laughs at this, playfully poking her cheek before sitting down.

“You something else, Hari. Whoever the nigga is, he has something special.”

This simple sentence causes Hari’s heart to flutter. This fine ass, aggy ass nigga thought that she was something special.

“I don’t have a man… Not that it’s any of your business,” she says pointedly.

“Oh word? Good to know.”

* * *

Erik honestly should have known better. With all the “cosmic energy” he’d gotten from the Universe over the past 48 hours about this damn girl, studying alone with her in a room he’d already had sex in was not the right move.

He put on a good front although he was distracted. Going over the topics he knew would be on the test that he’d created himself, pulling her attention away from things that weren’t important, patiently watching as she talked her way through the more challenging topics herself, all while glancing over at the wall he’d had C on every so often; his mind forcing him to place Hari in that position. Her intelligence and determination to understand the dense topics they covered over the last few weeks turned him on more than her physical appearance. His dick a rabbit’s foot, thumping impatiently from within the confines of his boxer briefs. 

And then he’d almost fucked around and kissed her. Twice at that. They had been engaging in a heated debate about which was the better anime between Death Note and Hunter x Hunter when he almost slipped. He began imagining what her lips felt like, what she tasted like, and even what her favorite position was.

_She’s a virgin, remember?_

Erik shook himself gently as he walked into his building, wondering if he really would have kissed her, if she asked. It had been a while since he’d shared a lip lock with anyone. Chanel wasn’t the type and most other women didn’t attract him in that way. But little Mahari….

Would he have done it?

 _Duh, nigga_ , a voice that sounded very much like Chauncey’s taunts back at him. He’s pulled from his thoughts when an unseen force nearly knocks him off his feet. He clutches his chest to catch his breath when an unfamiliar voice with a thick accent calls out to him.

“My apologies. I did not see you there,” the man says, a hand outstretched to help Erik right himself. He smacks the man’s hand away and nearly gives him a piece of his mind until his attention is pulled to the black and gold ring around the man’s neck.

_Is that my daddy’s ring?_


	5. Miyazaki Mayhem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aight, so I know y’all still waiting for me to update other things *hides the half finished OS and Bratopia docs from y’all* but at this point I gotta go where the muse takes me and it just happens to be with this ditty here. We are proud to present this lil bit of fic to y’all. This has actually been written for a bit but depression is a bitch who needs to be jumped out because she is no longer with this gang but that’s neither here nor there.
> 
> With love, and big dicks,
> 
> Vanity & Ash

__

_Previously on YOF:_

_He’s pulled from his thoughts when an unseen force nearly knocks him off his feet. He clutches his chest to catch his breath when an unfamiliar voice with a thick accent calls out to him._

_“My apologies. I did not see you there,” the man says, a hand outstretched to help Erik right himself. He smacks the man’s hand away and nearly gives him a piece of his mind until his attention is pulled to the black and gold ring around the man’s neck._

_Is that my daddy’s ring?_

_It Continues…._

Erik jogs quickly to catch up to the man before he can get too far away. His keen eyes honing in on the dark, sparkling jewel on the man’s finger. It winks mockingly at him in the lights. 

“Yo, where the fuck you get that ring from?” Erik growls, squaring his shoulders as he stares up at him. He almost reaches up to press his fingers into the one he can feel hanging around his neck just to ensure he wasn’t robbed.

“Excuse me?” The man with the rich accent inquires with a raise of his brow, momentarily taken aback by Erik’s brashness. 

There’s something nagging at the back of Erik’s mind that he can’t shake. A strong feeling of familiarity fills him as they gaze into each other’s eyes.

“You heard me, nigga,” Erik snaps impatiently, taking a heavy step forward. “Why you wearing my _daddy’s_ ring?”

“I’m sorry, but this is actually my father’s ring.” T’Challa offers with a smile before continuing his journey to his Panamera. He desires to explain and go into detail about why he was there, but time was of the essence. A smile touches his lips anyway. It has to be by Bast’s design that he would be put in this situation right here, right now. Or Shuri’s meddling. Either way, he isn’t going to let it pass.

“It is nice to finally meet you, cousin,” T’Challa calls back before hopping into his vehicle and rolling the windows down. 

_Cousin?_ Erik thinks, his face crumpling in confusion. _The fuck?_

“How am I supposed to contact you?” Erik yells back. This nigga wasn’t getting away without talking to him.

“We live in the same building,” T’Challa calls before speeding off. 

Leaving a very grumpy Erik Stevens in the dust.

“Nah,” he says, turning towards the steps. He takes them two at a time to his floor, barging through the door before slamming it aggressively. Someone was about to explain some shit to him and he knew _just_ where to start.

The clinic was unusually busy for a Tuesday afternoon. Some new virus was sweeping the states, nearly crippling the entire country in a matter of days. With this knowledge, Erik knew that the chances of getting N’Jobu on the phone were going to be slim to none but this was a pressing matter.

_Americans and their primitive medicinal practices._

Erik’s annoyance only grows when he is met with his father’s voicemail three times before his call finally goes through.

“Erik,” the older man says in a clipped voice that Erik knew meant he was too busy for pleasantries. 

But this wasn’t going to be a pleasant phone call.

“I just saw some nigga wearing your ring,” he says without greeting; too worked up to be polite.

“What?” N’Jobu questions with a distracted voice. 

Erik palms his face, rubbing at his mustache in an attempt to staunch the attitude he can feel bubbling.

“I _said_ I saw some nigga wearing _your_ ring. He said I was his cousin.”

There was a pregnant pause before N’Jobu sighed. Honestly, he knew this day would come but he hadn’t expected it to be this soon. His son had questions, and rightfully so, but they would have to wait. Erik was now a man and, as such, understood that his business came first. He made an oath when he took up his practice, one he would not falter from.

“I will explain later,” N’Jobu states with calm finality.

“Nah you gone explain _now_.” Erik’s temper had now grown beyond containment. Two of his biggest pet peeves were secrets and lies and, right now, his father was merely adding fuel to the fire that loomed in the pit of his stomach. 

A thunderous clatter ensues as Dr. Udaku slams his clipboard down on the desk, startling the few nurses and patients that were within earshot of his office. And reminding Erik what side of the family he’d inherited his disposition from. 

“Have you forgotten your place, _N’Jadaka_?”

Erik’s jaw flexes but his voice grew soft. He knew he had overstepped.

“No, Baba.”

“I will call you later this week,” N’Jobu stats, fixing his glasses and squaring his shoulders. 

“Aight.”

Those three muted beeps were all Erik hears before he tosses his phone down on his table. Bracing his arms on the wood to calm himself, he does the breathing exercise his mother has taught him. Deep breath in with a slow release on a ten count. The air filling his chest cavity and calming the blood rushing through his veins like a water rapid. When he feels more like himself, he reaches for his phone again. If he couldn’t get an answer out of his father, maybe his mother could shed some light on things.

Ava’s sweet voice is like music to his ears the way it rang from the other end of the receiver, calming him further. His mother truly was Erik’s kryptonite.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of a mid-week phone call from my _favorite_ son?”

Erik pulls a face before moving the phone from his ear to stare at it briefly.

“First of all, I’m ya _only_ son,” He replies with a chuckle.

“So what is Chauncey?” she counters with a smile.

“The daughter you never had, but apparently always wanted,” he says before breaking into a full on laughing fit.

“Uh uh!” Ava calls, trying to contain her own laughter. “Don’t do my baby like that. Now, back to the reason why you called.”

Erik’s face grew stoic again. 

“Ma, look. I saw this nigga, _in my building_ , wearing Dad’s ring.”

Ava’s pause was nerve wracking. For as long as he can remember, she almost _always_ had an answer so to hear her silent in this moment did nothing for his already sour mood.

“Did you call your father?” she finally asks, making her son grimace.

“Yes.”

“And what did he say?”

“That he’d call me this week,” Erik says after a sigh.

“Then wait for his call.”

Erik groans loudly.

“C’mon ma. I _know_ you know _something_ about this.”

“I do,” his mother agreed. “Just like I know that it isn’t my place to tell you. This is between you, your baba, and Bast. I am _not_ getting in the middle of that.”

“This some bullshit,” Erik mutters.

“Language!” Ava said with a laugh. “Don’t think that you too old for me to put you over my lap,” she playfully threatens.

Erik kisses his teeth without a hint of heat as the absurdity of the mental image conjures itself in his mind.

“Maan, whatever old lady. You don’t have Meg The Stallion knees anymore.”

“Boy these knees still work. You better ask your daddy.”

Erik pulls the phone away from his face again, this time with a look of disgust. “Okay eww. I didn’t need that. You love offering extra information that nobody asks for.”

“Because you always say some smart ass shit, like your father. Speaking of your father, calm down. He’ll tell you, you know he always keeps his word.”

“Aight,” Erik sighs again for what feels like the eightieth time.

“Love you,” Ava pacifies.

Erik smiles despite himself. 

“I love you too, ma.”

* * *

_“Ms. Owens. I asked you a question.”_

_Mahari’s breath hitches momentarily, the pen she had been chewing falling loudly to her desk. She had been so caught up in her brief fantasy about the perfectly sculpted man in the maroon suit before her that she didn’t even hear his words. She was perfectly happy just watching those soft looking lips taste the air…_

_She fidgets in her seat, painfully aware of the empty seconds that slip by while she tried to gather herself._

_“I’m sorry, could you repeat the question?” she says after finally finding her voice._

_Erik licks his thick lips and adjusts his gold frames. His eyes lightened to almost cinnamon in the lights of the classroom._

_“What are some of the steps to reduce postoperative pain?”_

_Squirming in her seat again, Mahari looks around the classroom for the answer. She’s sure she knows this, as she had done the reading on it the night before, but for some reason, the answer eludes her. Panic slices through her as her eyes land on David. Whose face is unreadable and slightly drawn, further confusing her. He usually always smiles at her..._

_“Did I ask Mr. Coleman or you, Mahari?” Erik’s voice cuts their staring contest short. His expression is sterner than she’s ever seen it and when they lock eyes again she takes a quick breath in._

_“Your answer, Ms. Owens. Unlike you, we don’t have all day.”_

_Low snickers broke out around the lecture hall causing Mahari’s cheeks to heat painfully. She pulls her lip through her teeth and glances down at her textbook. Which was inconveniently blank._

_The fuck is going on? She thinks._

_“Uh…,” she stutters out eloquently again, brain going into panic mode. She just needs to say something, anything at this point. “Electorocsis?”_

_Erik’s eyes darken as he leans forward to brace his hands on the large red oak desk in front of him; his forearms bulging with the movement._

_“That is incorrect.” His lips turn up into a devious smirk that sends all of Hari’s blood rushing to her core. “You know what that means, right?”_

_“Can we talk about this?” Hari pleads, her body quickly reminding her of the time she’d gotten a wrong answer during his lecture._

_“Nah,” he says frankly, already removing his Italian leather belt from his pants. “Come on up here, Khamisi.”_

_Hari’s head drops as she slowly makes the short trip to the front of the classroom. Eyes growing wide and fearful once she notices the rest of the class still seated with no intentions of leaving._

_“Wait!” she exclaims and turns to look at him as if he had twelve heads. “We're doing this in front of everybody?”_

_“You got that answer wrong in front of everybody, didn’t you?” he counters. “Bend over.”_

_It was in that moment that Hari was made acutely aware that she had opted against wearing panties under the plaid pleated skirt that brushes her skin with every move. Her cheeks redden when she feels his presence behind her, his body ghosting over hers in tantalizing agony._

_“You know how this goes, Khamisi,” Erik nearly moans out as she follows his orders reluctantly. The sight over her lithe little figure bent over, pert ass waving in the air near his groin is everything. He pushes her higher up, her feet dangling inches off the floor. “Five lashes. And if you stop counting, I start over, understand?”_

_“Yes, sir,” she whines with a nod of her head, moving his papers around the desk with the movement._

_Erik grabs her arms, securing them behind her back with his designer belt before grabbing the black fishnet paddle he knew Hari secretly loved from his desk drawer. The sight of her perfectly round bare bottom has his adams apple bobbing with a swallow. Slowly, he drags the lightweight torture device up the back of her left thigh before delivering the first swift smack to her exposed asscheek._

_Mahari’s muscles clench tightly as the heat from the sting radiates through her entire body. Her womanhood responding instantly._

_“One,” she winces._

_Erik rubs a hand over her skin soothingly as his other cocks back to strike her again on the opposite side, drawing a sultry breath from her._

_“Two,” Hari squeaks._

_“That’s it,” Erik praises lowly, just for her ears._

_Hari lifts her head to gaze out to the rest of the class, who were all watching with sadistic amusement. Even David couldn’t tear his eyes from the sight before him. The mild hint of pleasure coating his expression made Hari want to bury her head in shame._

_The paddle whistled through the air before it cracked across her bottom, biting the swelling skin in delicious agony. She could feel her arousal leaking from her body. Traveling down her thighs towards her ankles._

_“Three,” she groans, tears beginning to well in her eyes._

_Erik’s eyes are solely on her dripping peach. His mouth nearly drools at the sight. Who knew little Khamisi had a humiliation kink?_

_“Two more. You’re doing such a good job for me, Princess.”_

_“Thank you, Daddy,” she inadvertently moans. And freezes._

_Oh shit. She said that outloud._

_“Daddy?!” Mariah exclaims between bites of her sub, and Hari’s watery eyes darted to her location._

_Who let this hoe eat in the lecture hall!?_

_“Aht aht,” Erik calls out when he notices her concentration wanning. “Who you supposed to be paying attention to?”_

_His reprimanding voice wasn’t helping the mess already between her legs._

_“Y-you.”_

_Erik moves her long hair out of her face, a few strands sticking to her sweating skin, before he leans down to her ear._

_“Me who? What’s my name?” he questions before the bite of the paddle hits her once more._

_“Daddy!” Hari screams out, her entire body jolting. Again, all of her muscles clench tightly at the smack, her eyes rolling back in pleasure. “Four.”_

_“Mmm, this is a good ass sandwich,” Mariah quips_

_“Ooh, that little pussy about to cum ain’t it?” he taunts directly in her ear with a mean chuckle. “I see her twitching. You wanna cum on Daddy’s paddle?”_

_Excitement floods Hari at the thought. Could she? Did she want to? She knew the answer but her pride is attempting to staunch the desire._

_“Y-yes,” she whispers ashamedly._

_“Yes what, Khamisi?”_

_“Can I cum on your paddle, Daddy?”_

_“I don’t know, Princess. Do you think you deserve to cum on Daddy’s paddle?”_

_Impatience floods through her at the taunt, bringing her inner brat out to play. Hari grits her teeth._

_“At this point, I deserve to cum on Daddy’s dick, if we’re being honest.”_

_Erik’s chuckle is mocking when it rings out around her._

_“Not if you can’t answer a simple question you can’t. But you do deserve to get that smart little mouth of yours fucked. Which we’ll speak about after you answer my question.”_

_“Is anybody else hot?” Mariah calls out after a beat, fanning herself with a Subway napkin._

_Mahari pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, looking up at him with Disney eyes._

_“Daddy please? I can’t hold it much longer,” she whines._

_“You’ll hold it as long as I say. But since you were a good girl, I’ll let you have it.” Erik rolled to his full height and pulled his arm back. “Ready?”_

_“Hit her harder, Mr. Stevens!” Mariah urges._

_Before she could answer, Erik delivered the final blow. The paddle hitting both cheeks squarely while the leather edge catches her womanhood, sending shockwaves to her clit._

_“Shit!” Mahari screams as her essence shoots down her leg like a Supersoaker._

And jolts her awake to her cold, lonely bed.

“What the freak!?” she exclaims, panting in the darkness. Her clothes stick to her sweat soaked body as she heaves and slaps the alarm that rings out in the silence. A cool, wet sensation draws her attention to her nether regions. And the sheets around that area.

“I know damn well -.”

She _did_ not know damn well. Hari doesn’t even need to slide her hand down to where she was still pulsing and swollen to know exactly what had transpired. 

Erik Stevens made her cum and she wasn’t even conscious to enjoy it.

_Since when do I have a humiliation kink?_ She questions herself, swinging her feet over the side of the bed and stomping off to the bathroom for a cold shower. 

She didn’t. Wasn’t no way she would let his ass spank her in front of _God_ let alone an entire class with over 40+ of her peers. All over a wrong answer.. jackass.

“How dare he make me secrete my own damn juices,” she fusses as she lathers up and rinses all in one shot. Growing angrier when she feels just how _many_ juices she lost. 

“Aggy, tall, stupid-faced, well built, intelligent, perverted ass teacher nigga!”

Her eyes land on the outfit she’d taken out the night before once she returns from her shower. Her favorite pleated skirt and black short sleeved turtleneck. 

What in the cosmic trepidation!

“No no no no no no no no,” Hari chants as she runs over to throw the selection back into her closet with unnecessary force. She would _not_ be wearing a skirt to _this_ class ever again. Instead, [she pulls out a khaki colored jumper with zippers across the thighs](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fi.pinimg.com%2F564x%2Ff0%2Fb0%2F51%2Ff0b051cf14c379ca9c51c36562d23e2d.jpg&t=ZWJhYjMwZGEyMmVmNjViNjk5OThkYzQzNmUzYzZjMGVlYjIzMjRlNiwyNzM5MmQ3MjVlOTEzNTlmMDM3OTcwNWNjN2RkZjY0MGU5NjY5YTJj) that go well with her combat boots. 

Just in case she had to stomp a dread headed, gold toothed nigga in the dick or something. 

_Smack A Bitch_ by Rico Nasty blares through her Airpods as she makes the journey to class, scowl planted on her face the entire way. Her mood sours further when she spots Mariah’s short dreads coming towards her in the distance.

“Hold it right there, Sutton!” Hari screeches, pointing a sharp finger at the girl. 

“Heeeeey Hari,” her friend sings as she turns towards her, a party sized bag of Ruffles in her hand. “Ready to see our _favorite_ grad assistant today?”

“Bite me, Riah! And give me those!” she plucks the bag out of her grasp and points at the sign on the window to the left of them. “No eating in the lecture hall, The sign is right there!”

“Damn! What I do? But also, when you want me to bite you?” Mariah gnashes her teeth playfully.

“Ugh!”

A familiar chuckle rings out behind them as David enters the hall. His black t-shirt clinging to his chest and shoulders in a way that _annoys_ Mahari with the way she’s feeling.

“Chill out, Mariah,” he laughs, stopping between the two women. 

“She stole my snacks!” Mariah accuses, pointing to the bag in Mahari’s grip. 

“You not _suppose_ to be snacking!”

“I’m grown, don’t tell me what to do!”

David shakes his head with a slightly annoyed smirk, stealing the bag from Hari to hand back to Mariah. 

“If I smell you open them shits, I’ma beat ya ass!” Hari threatens when Mariah skips into the hall with glee. 

“See, since you got that attitude, not only am I going to eat them, I’ma sit next to you and mouth breathe the whole class.”

“Ewwww!” 

David playfully rolls his eyes as he takes his usual seat beside Mahari. 

“You look nice but that’s nothing new,” he comments smoothly.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Hari replies, her tone as flat as Mariah’s ass.

Suddenly, the door is thrown open and Erik walks in the room with a scowl that matches that of Mahari. The entire hall grows cold and quiet once he slams his Louis Vuitton messenger bag on the desk.

“I have the results of last week’s exam. They were less than pleasing,” he sneers, pulling the stack of papers from the bag’s front pocket. He hands them out briskly. His attitude is only a little _less_ palpable as he slides Mahari’s across the desk wordlessly.

Hari pulls a face, more upset than she wants to admit at the fact that he didn’t even look her way. 

“Shoulda bet your thick lipped ass I was going to pass,” she beams with pride at the circled, red 96 at the top of the page. 

“Not today, Mahari,” he says tersely. 

_Excuse me?_ Her psyche screams.

She scowls at him before whispering, “I thought it was Khaleesi.”

“Khamisi,” Mariah corrects, looking down at her 78 score.

“Bitch, shut up! I know my damn name!”

Before she could even begin to process Erik’s sudden change in attitude and demeanor, Dr. Watson enters the classroom holding a separate stack of papers. _His_ attitude is blessedly the same as always. Cheery with only a touch of aloofness. 

“Good morning class,” the portly man greets.

His assistant melts into the background, leaning up against the wall in parade rest. His eyes shielded, jaw flexed. 

_What was this nigga’s problem?_

“Mr. Stevens submitted the test scores to me early this morning.” His chinky gaze sweeps over to the front and center seat. “I am pleased to admit that Ms. Owens has gotten the highest score of my twenty years here at Oakland U.”

“Woo!” Mariah calls out, clapping animatedly next to her. 

“Thank you,” Hari says, cheeks heating slightly before her eyes peek over to the corner of the room. “I had a good study guide.”

Erik’s face remains stoic, not even a twinkle of a smile behind his eyes. 

_Well fuck you too, nigga._

“I see,” the professor says with his own knowing look. “Now that we’ve gotten over the first hump, it’s time to discuss the final which will be a group project as outlined on the syllabus.”

Groans ring out in the room as Dr. Watson goes into detail about the project. He splits the class up into quads with Mahari being lumped with David, Mariah, and another male classmate named Hendrix.

“Hendrix like Future or Jimi?” Mariah asks once they rearrange their seating, chips puffing out her cheeks.

“Neither, just Hendrix,” he says frankly.

“Aight, I’ma just call you Jimi,” she announces.

“Or you can call the man by his name,” David chuckles, formally introducing himself to the other man.

“So what’s your last name, Hendrix?” Mahari questions to change the subject. She too was curious. Although she’d seen him in class he never stuck out to her. 

“Marshall,” he says with a smile.

“Like Mathers or like Thurgood?” 

“Mariah shut the hell up,” David says through his laughing fit.

“Bruh, are you gonna do this the _entire_ project?” Hendrix asks, one eyebrow raised quizzically.

“Quite possibly,” Mariah announces proudly.

They wait eagerly as Dr. Watson goes around the lecture hall, assigning each group their topic. Exchanging contact information and small bits of conversation.

“Ah,” he says once he reaches them, the last group. “And for your,” he wheezes, taking a look at Mariah over his spectacles, “Joint Pathology of the Spine.”

Mariah sputters out chips at his assignment. She glares down at the big man.

“Is this a joke doc? Joints? You _know_ I got bad knees.”

“Maybe you’ll learn something from this then,” he states. “Class dismissed.”

Erik smirks despite himself, having thought of a number of jokes he can use against her should the situation ever arise. His phone rings as he slings his messenger bag over his shoulder. Briskly, he makes his way out of the room when he sees his father’s number flash across the screen.

“Bout time, nigga,” he mutters before swiping over. When the old man said “this week” he sure as hell took his time.

Any attempt Mahari had in mind at trying to get his attention is thwarted, as he is out of the door before she can even get completely out of her seat; further souring her mood and adding to her confusion.

“You alright, Hari?” David questions when it’s just them in the classroom. “You didn’t seem like yourself today.”

_Of course this nigga is hyper aware of my demeanor._

“I’m okay, David. I think I’m PMS’ing,” she lies and begins to gather her things.

“I can respect that,” David nods, following her out of the lecture hall. He hikes his bag higher on his shoulder and rolls his lips as his nerves kick around in his gut. “I was wondering if you would like to go out with me tomorrow to celebrate us passing our tests.”

“You passed?” Hari questions before she can catch her rudeness. Her cheeks heat.

David laughs lightly, opting to ignore her condescending comment.

“Yeah I passed,” he tells her, holding up the test still in his hand like a trophy. “I got an 88.”

“Oh! Congrats.”

“Thanks. Sooooo,” he hedges, bending slightly to catch her gaze.

Hari ponders on the question a bit. She hadn’t been out in public with David ever since the incident at the block party and she still had her reservations about him. 

What’s the worst that could happen?

_Erik could be right,_ her subconscious quips back. 

Swinging her gaze from the floor to where he was still staring at her, Hari regards him for a second; taking in his uneasy posture and the shy expression he was trying valiantly to hide. Although he had a tendency of being a bit of an asshole, David had always been genuine. Even with his lame attempts at watching anime were rooted in the fact that he was trying to understand her. Sure, his execution needed work, but he was at least _trying_. And that said something. 

Plus, she doubted he could hurt a fly.

“I guess we _could_ grab a bite to eat, provided you behave yourself,” she finally caves.

David’s smile stretched wider than the Grand Canyon across his face.

“Then it’s a date!” he exclaims excitedly, taking a step towards her.

_Whoa there, nigger_ , her subconscious says, stopping her in her tracks.

“A date?” she asks as though he had just spoken some foreign language. 

“Yeah, a date. You know when two people that like each other go out, just the two of them,” he explains slowly, as if she didn’t know the meaning of the word.

“I know what a date is, jackass,” Hari states, looking at him with a stank face. “I’m just not sure I want to go on one with you, especially after last time. Let me think about it.”

The smile didn’t falter off his face as they continue out of the hall. 

“Hey, you accepted my apology, remember?”

“Yes, D, I remember.”

“Aight, I’ma ask yo ass all weekend. I ain’t letting you chicken out.”

“Who exactly are you calling a chicken?”

“Yo ass,” he laughs before turning around to run to his other class. “See you tomorrow, Hari.”

Huffing in mild annoyance, Hari turns towards her dorm. Why she had a thing for pushy niggas, she’d didn’t know.

* * *

Friday comes way faster than Hari had actually anticipated. Granted it was _less_ than 24 hours, but still. 

She’s spent the better half of those hours in and out of debate on whether or not she was _actually_ going on the “date.” Going as far as to write her both the pros and cons on a piece of paper that could now be found at the bottom of her trash can. 

Ultimately, she ends up calling the most honest voice of reason in her life to discuss the situation.

Sanaa Naomi Parker. 

“So why won’t you give my boy Monkey Man another chance? He obviously ain’t taking no for an answer.”

“But Sanaa, it's _David_ ,” Mahari whines into the pillow next to her propped up phone. She should have known that her best friend was going to be on the opposing side of her argument. Yet, she called her anyway....

“So! Teacher Nigga clearly has something stuck up his ass, which isn’t your fault,” Sanaa tells her sagely. “Why should you sit in your room and mourn a relationship that doesn’t even exist? You need to get out and have some fun, Three.”

“I have fun!” Hari fusses, sitting up straight to glare into the camera.

“Eating pho and binge watching Machiko and Hatchin and Fruits Basket is _not_ fun, Three.”

‘Who said?!”

“I said, dammit,” Sanaa says with a chuckle. “Why else would you give up your work shift on a Friday night?”

Sanaa had her there and the silence was _telling_. 

“Egg zack lee. Sooooooooo,” she sings, twirling her newly installed faux locs around her finger, “where is he taking you?”

“He didn’t say,” Hari says as her text tone trills. “Correction, he just texted me. He got tickets to the Miyazaki museum.”

“Oh he in _love_ love. H’okay! I see you Monkey Man!”

A grimace over takes Mahari’s face at that word. Sanaa done lost her cotton picking mind.

“Not love. Chill.”

“ _Or_ ,” Sanaa drawls, taping her chubby chin, “maybe he’s just using your weebness as an excuse to get some booty.”

“Oh that’s NOT happening. I’m saving myself for--”

“Your GA?” Sanaa interrupts.

“I’ll be glad when you get a man so you can stay outta my damn business,” Hari grumbles.

“You mean the business you always _invite me_ to? Aight, nigga.”

“Whatever, BYE FIVE!” Hari pouts, ending the Facetime call. 

As much as she hated to admit it, Sanaa was right, _yet again_. Erik’s attitude had nothing to do with her and she shouldn’t punish herself by moping in her dorm room. _Especially_ after she had done so well on her midterm. Mahari brushes a few stray hairs behind her ear before Facetiming David. 

He answers immediately, almost like he had been sitting by the phone waiting for her call. The image _almost_ makes her laugh.

“Hey,” Hari calls once his face comes into view. “Does that offer still stand?”

The coupled emotions of relief and happiness that lightens David’s eyes are so evident even Hari can see it. She’s reminded again of how attractive David actually is. The shallow dimples in his face give him a more boyish look. 

And makes her think of someone she _really_ rather not think of at that moment.

“You just tryna get some free food. You ain’t low, Khamisi,” David answers in a low chuckles.

“Woooow, not the government. I don’t just walk around screaming out Tariq all willy nilly.”

David’s eyes smolder a bit and he licks his lips.

“I mean, if you _want_ to scream my name, you ain't gotta ask.”

“You know hwhat,” Hari starts, glancing down at her watch. “What time Subway close? I’m not about to do this with you.”

“Aight chill chill,” he laughs behind his fist. “You ready now? I can come scoop you.”

“On what? Ya rollerblades?” Hari sasses.

“Funny. I’ll be there in twenty.”

* * *

For once, Mahari was happy that a man has kept her waiting. It took nearly four outfit changes before she finally decided something simple.[ A caramel colored t-shirt dress and tan knee-high caged sandals and oversized pearl earrings.](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fi.pinimg.com%2F564x%2F9d%2F14%2Fca%2F9d14ca6462f5cc5d305c1d9c118480cf.jpg&t=MWY3MTk0MTM1NGZjMGI1NWI1OWEzYzcxZjY1MTkxOGY1Njc1MTAxNiw3NWViODcxMTZiMGExYmMyMDJhMjczYWMwZTYxZGUzOTJiMDM2NjZm) She does a small twirl, stopping to shake her shapely ass in the mirror with a giggle. It has been awhile since she’s worn these boots and she rediscovers how well they showcase her physique. 

David was going to swallow his tongue. 

Two cheery beeps draw her attention to the window where a matte black Shelby GT Mustang with gold accents is waiting in front of her building.

“Oop!” she laughs, grabbing her bag and heading out the door. Hari walks out, smiling sweetly as David gets out.

“Damn, girl. Look at you,” he says walking over to the passenger side to open the door for her. He holds out a hand to help her off the curb.

“Look at you, pulling up in your dad’s car to impress me,” she jokes, taking his hand as she steps into the low, _good smelling_ vehicle.

_Is this Stefano Ricci?_

David rolls his eyes playfully, closing the door once she’s tucked safely inside the vehicle before going back around to the driver’s side.

“I see you got jokes tonight, Hari,” David jokes lightly, pulling out of the space and into traffic. “Keep this same energy when we’re in the museum.”

“I will,” Hari ensures.

The car ride to the museum was pleasant. The pair settle into a heated debate about music, followed by Mahari having to explain the difference between regular Goku and Super Sayan Goku.

“Sooo, they’re _not_ the same nigga?” David questions, pulling into a spot. 

“No they’re not, you uncultured swine!”

“Uncultured though?” 

“Yes! You sposed to know shit like this. It’s like basic arithmetic.”

“Well, that’s why I have you to teach me this shit, _sensei_?” 

“It’s _sempa_ i! Ugh, get out the damn car.”

From the moment they step out of the car, Mahari is in true anime heaven. The outside of the stucco building was covered in art reminiscent of her childhood faves. The lush spring meadow detailed with colors so bright, Mahari was sure she could pluck one of the tulips off with just the slightest flick of her wrist. 

“Wow,” she murmurs, voice full of wonder as she stops in front of the doors. 

“It’s gorgeous,” David says but, when Hari turns to look at him, he’s staring down at her. 

“How’d you know I wanted to come here?” she questions with wide eyes as he pulls open the door and ushers her inside. David’s hand on the small of her back. 

“Because you’re a weeb and you like this kind of shit,” he smirks. “Did I use weeb correctly?”

“Yes, you used it correctly,” she says in a purposely dull voice that betrays the smile on her lips. “But I swear on black Jesus, I will cut you if you ever say it again.”

David gives a hearty chuckle as the hostess scans his phone and hands them a map.

“Noted,” he tells her, handing over the map. “Lead the way, ma.”

Muted squeals could be heard bouncing off the walls as the pair made their way from section to section with a speed that nearly gave David vertigo. It was true, Mahari really was in her element, her glee filled eyes drinking in all the details they could. 

She meets the concept art section with mixed emotions. Simultaneously ecstatic and sad that the incredible and well thought out pieces would never come to be fully produced. 

“Why is that?” David questions with genuine interest when she tells him. 

“Because,” she pouts, “Miyazaki hates the turn anime has made. He hates all the fan service and thinks most of the new series are nothing but porn.”

“Niggas make porn outta this shit?!” David exclaims loudly, garnering entirely too much attention for Hari’s taste. 

“Yes. Now do you have to be so ghatdamn loud?” 

“My fault.”

She grabs his hand and they make a quick exit. 

“Ugh, if you behave, maybe we can watch something together.”

His face lights up, as he unconsciously links their fingers together, tugging her over. 

“Word?”

“Yes.”

“Nah, say on Crip,” he jokes. 

“Boy if you don’t come on before I change my mind.”

They had saved the best for last, is all Mahari can think as she tugs her date through the entryway of the Kiki’s Delivery Service wing.

“Oh my gosh! It’s Jiji!” she gushes and runs over to the full scale black cat perched on the floating broom. “He’s the reason I always wanted a black cat. But my mom wouldn’t let me get one because she said it was bad luck.”

“Why don’t you get one now?” David questions, moving closer to her with a gentle smile on his lips. 

Mahari rolls her eyes over to him. 

“Now you _know_ we can’t have pets in my dorm.”

“Well, when you move out, I’ll buy you one.”

“Huh,” Mahari muses, tapping her chin with her free hand. “Y’know I’ve never had a man try to get my pussy by giving me pussy.”

A laugh bursts out of David, releasing her hand as he bends over to grab his knees. 

“Yo I swear you something else. Who says that’s all I want, hmm?”

“Boy quit playin,” Hari giggles, smacking his shoulder. “I was just joking. I think I may be allergic anyway.”

“Ah,” he responds, pulling something from his pocket. “Then what about this?”

The low ambient lighting of the room bounces off the silver in David's hand and Mahari moves closer instinctualy. It’s a charm bracelet housing all of her favorite characters: Howl, Kiki, Totoro, Ponyo, and of course, her favorite black cat, Jiji.

“It’s so pretty,’ she whispers in wonder and takes the cool metal from him. 

“Silver looks good on your skin,” he smiles as he slips it on. 

Mahari takes a few seconds, twisting her arm this way and that. It was lightweight enough that she wouldn’t mind wearing it everyday.

“Thank you,” she says with a genuine smile. 

David smiles, bringing her hand up to brush his lips across her knuckles. Who knew the nigga could be this sauve? His deep brown eyes look up at her through his lashes and she knows that this is the look that wins women over. 

“You’re welcome, Hari.”

She was in _deep_ trouble.

* * *

After several rounds through the extensive layout of the museum, Hari’s growing hunger was making its presence known. She hadn’t been completely lying to David yesterday. PMS really had been messing with her body’s chemistry and, for the last few days her sweet tooth had been _insatiable_. 

“What you wanna eat?” he questions as they pull out of the parking lot. 

“A milkshake.”

“Cool, I know just the place.”

The pair pop into nearby Johnny Rocket’s for milkshakes and burgers. It has been ages since she’s been and Hari nearly drools as she imagines the taste of creamy peanut butter hitting the back of her mouth. 

She _had_ to have that shake.

They barely even make it inside before Hari’s attention is pulled to a table near the bar. Where Erik, Dinisha, and Chauncey are seated laughing over a round of shakes.

_The universe must really have it out for me_ , she thinks.

Erik looks to be back to his usual, annoying mood as he laughs loudly with the other members of the Alphabet Gang. The storm clouds he’d been sporting clearing up to a much brighter smile. 

“I see someone’s mood has lightened,” Dinisha says, batting her lashes in Erik’s direction as she slides her hands along his toned forearm. “You just needed to see me, huh?”

Envy slices through Hari’s heart swiftly and she tamps down on the urge to go over and snatch her hand away. 

_What the freak?_ She thinks to herself. That was not like her. At all. 

“Girl, stop batting them wispies for they fly the hell off,” Chauncey says, rolling his eyes before turning to Erik. “You talked to your dad, didn’t you?”

“Mmhm,” Erik says, readjusting in his seat and conveniently dislodges Dinisha’s grip. 

The woman is unfettered though as she flips her freshly pressed hair over her shoulder, smiling when her eyes meet Mahari’s.

“Ooh heeey, Hari, girl,” she calls, waving over to Hari and David who are still standing in the doorway. 

Mahari swallows, schooling her expression before she returns the wave, walking over to speak to Erik and Chauncey.

“Wassup Khamisi?” Erik says, a lazy grin spreading across his face. He reaches out to her but Hari sidesteps his movement. Folding her arms tightly across her chest.

“Oh you talking to me now?”

“When did I stop?” he asks, catching her folded and pulling her forward. He gives her a once over before tugging at the end of her t-shirt dress “Where ya pants at?” 

“On David’s floor,” Chauncey mutters under his breath.

“Oop,” Dinisha squeaks, pulling Erik’s milkshake over for a sip.

“Gimmie dat,” Erik growls lowly, snatching the cup back from her.

“She just wanted to taste ya spit since she can’t taste ya-.”

“CHAUNCEY!” Erik growls, looking over at him with barely concealed malice. That Chauncey barely acknowledges.

While the foursome catch up, David gets seated, choosing a booth near the back of the restaurant for privacy. He loves his greek fam, and Erik was cool and all, but he had come here for a reason. And he’d be damned if Stevens upstaged him. _Again._

“Hari,” he calls out, beckoning her over with a wave of his hand.

Without a backwards glance, she heads over, sliding into the bench on the opposite side. 

“Whew,” she says once she’s finally situated. “I needed a break. My feet hurt.”

“You want a massage,” David asks coyly, reaching under the table. Making Hari kick her feet playfully. 

“Boy quit it!” Hari giggles. 

The waitress comes over and takes their orders, and Mahari laughs again as David makes a joke about her being Alpha kin, on account of her peanut butter and banana smoothie. 

Erik’s head whips in their direction, confused at the fact that Hari seemed to be enjoying herself with her classmate. A switch clicks in his mind and without thinking, he makes a beeline to their table, Chauncey and Dinisha hot on his heels.

“Hari, scoot down,” is all the warning she gets before the three of them slide into their booth and effectively, their date. Dinisha slides in next to her while Erik takes his place at the end. 

“Uuhhhhh?” Mahari says, looking over to David for an answer. Who looks just as taken aback as she feels. 

“This some bullshit,” David grumbles under his breath as Chauncey takes the seat next to him. 

“What is? Yall on a date?” Chauncey asks with a huge smile, passing David his menu. 

“Oh shit, they are!” Dinisha exclaims, clapping animatedly. “Awwwh, y’all so cute!”

“Yeah?” Erik asks with a raised brow. He leans forward to look down at Mahari, “Where y’all go?”

“The Miyazaki museum,” she says, unable to contain her smile. It had been fun. Much more so than she had expected. 

“Of course ya weeb ass would go there,” he teases, dimples on full display.

_Why did it sound better when he says it_ , David laments.

“Who you callin a weeb, weeb?” Hari quips. First he ignores her and now he wants to openly flirt with her while she’s on a date?

_Oh this a date now?_ Her subconscious asks. 

“Erik is an Otaku, Hari.” Chauncey reprimands with a sage-like nod towards his best friend. “Respect your sensei.”

“You damn right,” Erik grins proudly.

“What language are y’all speakin right now?” Dinisha asks as her head physically follows the conversation like she was watching a tennis match. 

“Okay so I’m not the _only one_ lost,” David says.

“Ugh, never mind,” Hari says, reaching up to push her silken hair behind her ear.

The sparkles on Hari’s wrist catch Erik’s eye as the bracelet twinkles under the bright light of the booth.

“What’s this?” he asks with a raised eyebrow, reaching over Dinisha to fit a finger under the links of the bracelet. One of the charms dislodge and topples to the table.“Oops.”

“Erik!” she reprimands, picking it up to look at it. Thanking god it wasn’t Jiji.

“Guess I don’t know my own strength,” he shrugs his shoulders. 

“I think I have some super glue in my purse,” Dinisha tries to pacify, but one look at Hari’s face told it all. She was livid. “Ooor not.”

“You always touching some shit,” Hari barks at him, slapping his hand away.

“I aint even touch you.”

“Yet,” Chauncey mutters, making Dinisha snap her head to him.

“What?” she mouths to him, further confused when he gives her a cheshire smirk.

“It’s okay, Hari,” David says, turning her towards him with a gentle finger under her chin. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

“Oh _you_ bought her this cheap shit?” Erik asks, his eyes on David’s hand. He gives him a sharp, lopsided grin. “I understand now.” 

Chauncey kicks him under the table before shooting him a text.

_Bro: Can you behave, just once in your life?_

Dinisha puts her arms on her head, mimicking her favorite Regina Hall meme. “What is happening?” she whisper yells to no one in particular.

**mAmBa: I don’t know the meaning of the word.**

“My fault, that was rude of me,” Erik offers sarcastically, pocketing his phone. “My parents just taught me how to spot fake shit.”

“Check please,” Dinisha says once their waitress passes the table.

“Together or separate?” the waitress asks confused, as she had just come over to take their order. “And did you want me to pack your order to go instead?

“Don’t listen to her,” Chauncey says, ushering the young woman away.

“So what, y’all two niggas dating?” Erik asks bluntly and gives David the once over as if this is his first time seeing him. He tips his head towards him while turning back to Hari.“I ain’t think this was ya type.”

“What type is that?” David asks roughly, leaning towards the older man. 

_Oh no,_ Hari thinks. She has no idea how such a great day has come to this but she knows she needs to nip all this shit in the bud. 

“Wasn’t talking to you,” Erik retorts, looking back over at David. “But, since you asked, the br-”

“No! We aren’t dating!” Hari interrupts before things can get ugly.

Erik and David both look back at her in unison with completely different expressions. David’s face falls while Erik’s lights up in cruel appeasement. He sits back the chair a bit, scratching his chin as if he was in thought. 

“Oh yeah, you did say you was single when we was in the library last week.”

“Library?” David asks, putting two and two together quicker than Hari thought he was capable of. 

_Oh this nigga,_ she thinks.

“Yeah, before the exam. She said she ain’t have no man,” Erik confirms smugly. 

“You mean the night you left me on read?” David questions, looking at Mahari suspiciously.

“Oop,” Chauncey and Dinisha chirp simultaneously. 

“Oh that was you that texted her,” Erik prods, pointing a finger at him before he chuckles. “Damn, tough luck dawg.” He looks back over at Hari with a wink. “It was a good night, right Hari?”

As if on cue, the waitress comes by to drop off entrees. She repeats each order smoothly before placing each dish in front of its respective recipient.

“Ooh, that looks good,” Chauncey says, reaching over to grab David’s burger, taking a huge bite.

“Nigga!” he exclaims, pulling the plate back to him.

“Guys, shouldn’t we leave these two alone if they’re on a date?” Dinisha asks, noticing the disgusted look on Hari’s face.

“Why?” the Erik and Chauncey ask in unison, making no move to leave. 

“Because it’s rude, you Neanderthals!” Dinisha fusses, tugging both of their arms as she pushes and pulls them out of the booth. “Sorry about this, y’all. Please try to enjoy the rest of your night.”

“Wait! My burger!” Chauncey whines, dropping it back on the plate. 

“Nigga this ain’t ya burger!” David shouts.

“Just like that _ain’t_ ya woman,” Chauncey retorts before walking back to their original spot at the bar.

“Add their meals to my bill,” Erik tells the waitress as he helps Dinisha up from the table. He turns back to the pair with a smirk. “Don’t say I ain’t ever done nothing for ya. See y’all in class.”

Silence falls over the table as Mahari swirls her milkshake with the straw. She has no idea where to even start with everything that Erik’s loose lips had let slip. One glance over at David lets her know she wouldn’t be getting off easy either.

“What was that?” David asks once the alphabet gang are far enough away from their table.

“What was what?” Mahari asks as innocently as she could.

“You and Erik?” he states plainly. 

“What about us?” Hari asks as she folds her arms defensively. She hated being accused of shit. Especially shit that wasn’t none of anyone’s business.

David glances at the bar before locking eyes with her again with a serious expression. 

“Are y’all a thing?”

“Why is everyone so interested in my damn love life?” Mahari groans. 

“Because you so tight lipped with it. Look,” David says, pushing his plate away from him, “if you had something else going on, you could have at least told me.”

_Nigga what?_

“For the record, no, I’m not seeing _anyone_ ,” she yells in Erik’s direction for emphasis. “But if I was, it’s _my_ damn business. Now can we please eat so I can go back to my room.”

David wasn’t letting it go that easy.

“But you ignored my text for this nigga. You expect me to _believe_ that?”

This nigga was absolutely trying it, but, not so lucky for him, Mahari has time today.

“David, sweetie. I don’t know what type of nigga logic you got flowing through that thick ass skull of yours, but hear me loud and clear: You are _not_ my man. You have no right to check me about _anything_ that I do or _anyone_ that I’m with. If I wanna ignore your text for 40 days and 40 nights, I can because you don’t pay this bill.” 

David blinks, staring blankly as Mahari continues to fuss. “Mahari,” he starts but she cuts him off with a hand in the air.

“Nah. Ion eem care what you finna say, dawg. Can I get a damn togo box?” she snaps to the waitress, immediately apologizing for taking her frustrations out on her.

Erik watches the entire ordeal through the window of the restaurant, silently pleased at the fact that he’d single handedly ruined any shot David had at Mahari.

This time.

“You’re an ass,” Dinisha says with her nose turned up.

“Yet you still tryna be my girlfriend. So what exactly does that say about you, Nisha?”

“You ain’t even have to go there,” she pouts, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Yet he did,” Chauncey says. “Leave them kids alone.”

Erik glances back one final time at the arguing duo, smirking once he and Hari lock eyes. He knows she’s pissed, but in that moment, he notices something else behind those big wide eyes: lust.

_Got her ass._


	6. N’Jadaka and the Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, yes, I know. We’ve been away for awhile. Okay, eye’ve been away for awhile, Vanity ain’t leave. But sometimes, a baby’s gotta do what baby’s gotta do. To all y’all who’ve missed me? Thank you. To all of y’all who’re waiting for Overstimulated .... *ducks and hides* We wrote this shit in two days y’all, thats a fucking feat. Thanks for rocking with me y’all. Here’s a new chapter.
> 
> With love, and big dicks,
> 
> Vanity & Ash

The walk to Dinisha’s car was mostly quiet, save for Erik’s cheerful whistle. There’s an extra spring to his step as he twirls his keychain around his finger, a chuckle or two breaking through and echoing out in the dimly lit street they’re traversing. 

Chauncey bites his tongue, choosing to stare daggers at the faded back of his best friend’s head until they break away from Dinisha. The trio exchange goodbyes before Chauncey and Erik turn to head in the direction of his Ferrari. As soon as Dinisha’s pearl white Malibu disappears down Main Street, Chauncey turns sharply on his heels and stalks towards his best friend.

“Nigga…,” he seethes with a tilt of his head before he gestures to the building they walked out of. “You wanna explain what the _fuck_ that just was?”

Erik is nonplussed by his attitude; stuffing his hands in his pockets before he rocks back on his heels lightly. At least he has the decency to smother his smile, “Whatchu _meeeean_?” he squeaks before shrugging a shoulder. “We was just having fun.”

_That…he…okay._

“Touché,” Chauncey sighs, “but… You _know_ what I’m talking about. That was a whole pissing contest back there.”

Erik kisses his teeth loudly before turning to continue their journey, “Maan, we both know my dick probably bigger than his. Wasn’t no contest to be had.” 

Chauncey huffs a laugh. “Now see,” he grins. “If you weren’t my brother, I’d say something. Anywhore…” 

“ _And_ ,” Erik interjects, looking over at his friend, “if you weren’t _mine_ , I would have dumped yo ass on the street in second grade.”

“After or _before_ I beat Mark’s ass for you?”

Erik rolled his eyes to the heavens, “Here we go…”

“ _Anywhore,_ ” Chauncey starts again, “I still wanna know what the fuck that was.”

“Why you trippin? You was just as bad.”

“Okay, but _I_ don’t like Mahari.”

“Funny. _I_ don’t either,” Erik gruffed with a twist of his lips. When the fuck was Chauncey going to let this shit go?

“Nigga….bitch….okay,” Chauncey groans with a shake of his head. 

Erik stops dead in his tracks to look at his friend. “Did you just call me a bitch?”

“No, I called you a _nigga_ bitch,” Chauncey clarifies with a wave of his fingers as he too stops to stare at Erik. “If you didn’t like that girl, why’d you do all of that?”

“Calm down. Y’all act like I broke the shit on purpose.”

“Who was talking about the bracelet? I was referring to the whole thing. You, me, and Nisha were having a nice ass time, why did we have to go sit with them?”

“I wanted to sit with my friend.”

Chauncey exhales exasperatedly as he watches Erik’s face change; his mask of feigned nonchalance sliding into place. He knew this side of Erik all too well. This blasé attitude was his defense mechanism when he knew he was wrong. After all, it’s a lot easier for him to place the blame on someone else than actually admit he did something wrong. 

Chauncey was _not_ doing this shit with him tonight. 

“Oh, now she’s your _friend_? I thought she was just your student.”

“She is,” Erik smirks.

“Okay, nigga,” Chauncey laughs without humor. “Why did you have to mention the fact that the bracelet was fake? We all knew it was fake, but she clearly liked it.”

“If you like someone, why give them fake shit? It just proves you have fake intentions.”

“Nigga says _who_?! What does that even mean?” Chauncey screeches. “Just say you were jealous of the fact that she was enjoying my neo’s company and go. You’re making an ass of yourself right now.”

“Insult me again and you’re walking home,” Erik threatens. “The only person making an ass of themselves is your _neo_. Like he could handle a girl like Mahari anyway.”

“Oh, and _you_ could do better?”

“I think she’s worth more than some bum ass museum he got a student discount on and a cheap-ass burger, yeah,” Erik states. It nearly concerns him how he plots a date between them in his mind in less than a nanosecond. He shakes the thought, turning again to continue to his car.

“Aight, nigga. Everybody can’t afford Cartier bracelets and Ruth’s Chris for a first date.”

“Then _everybody_ needs to leave my girl alone.”

What?

“UMM HELLO?! WHO?!” Chauncey nearly screams. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Whatever Mahari had in the box had his best friend’s nose wide open. So much so that he was contradicting himself. _Did she bury her draws in this nigga’s yard?_

Before he can think, Chauncey spews, “I thought Xo was in New York.”

Erik stops walking, looking at him like a wounded puppy. “You ain’t have to go there, C.”

“But I did because you being wishy-washy as fuck right now,” Chauncey continues, too annoyed at Erik’s inability to see what was really happening. “You decided after you and Xo were done to just fuck your pain away. And I been _real_ quiet because we all deal with trauma differently. The women you been dealing with know what it is and you seem happy enough. But what I _won’t_ let you do, is bring Mahari into your bullshit. _Especially_ when you can’t even acknowledge how you feel.” He paused, looking directly into Erik’s eyes, seeking out a shred of deceit. “Are you her teacher or her nigga? I could tell you what I think you should be, but we all know yo hardheaded ass ain’t gone listen.”

Surprising them both, Erik doesn’t answer immediately. Chauncey watches as a plethora of emotions flits through Erik’s eyes. His lips twist slowly, pulling down in the corners as he thinks. And thinks. _And thinks_. Chauncey almost feels triumphant that he got the pig-headed nigga to actually consider his actions before an emotion he knows all too well settles across Erik’s features. Headassary.

“How come I can’t be her teacher nigga?”

An outsider would think that Chauncey was mixed with Jamaican with how long and loud he kisses his teeth.

“N’Jadaka Udaku, I swear to _Bast, Yemoja, and Oshun._.”

“First of all, nigga, my name is Erik Stevens,.” the Spyder blinks to life as they finally reach it. “Second of all, I _hear_ you. I ain’t even mean it like that. ‘My girl’ as in my friend.”

“So you call all your female friends your girl?” Chauncey questions, opening the passenger door.

“I call you my boy, don’t I?”

“No, you call me your brother. Your sister if you’re being an ass. I ain’t eeeveeeeer heard you refer to the any of the Powerpuff Sluts as your girl.”

“Semantics nigga,” Erik says over the car purring to life. “Either way, the nigga don’t deserve her.”

“You sounding real possessive right now, E. And I think you really need to ask yourself who you lying to: you or yourself? Cause you aint lying to me.”

“Whatever nigga.”

The drive to Chauncey’s place is relatively quiet as Erik seems lost in his thoughts. 

_Good for him_ , Chauncey thinks with a rueful shake of his head. He reaches over to dap Erik up when they stop outside his condo. 

Giving him a stern look as he says, “I meant what the fuck I said earlier, E. Figure it out! With your head _not_ your dick.”

“Por que no los dos?” Erik smirks as he exits the vehicle. 

Chauncey groans loudly. “I hate yo ass, I swear,” he says before slamming the door.

“This is a classic, nigga!” Erik yells as Chauncey walks up to his front door. “The hell he think this is?” he fusses, making sure he was safe in the house before pulling off.

Chauncey’s words play on an endless loop as he makes the drive home. He knows his brother is right, but still can’t bring himself to feel bad about the way the night went. Even though she was upset, he knew she still had a soft spot for him. The lustful look in her eyes before they left told all. She wants him bad and he wants her just the same… He thinks.

“Nah,” he says with a shake of his head. He refuses to dwell on that train of thought and opts to text the one person he knew would make him forget everything: Chanel.

_Aye, you free tomorrow?_

* * *

MAMA Oakland is just as busy as Mahari remembers and discovering it had been the perfect case of serendipity. She had been out one day touring the neighborhood when she quite literally stumbled upon it. The edge of her platform vans hadn’t cleared the curb as she expected and she went tumbling forward; landing on her hands and knees in front of the long line of people. Normally, she would have scurried away in embarrassment but one whiff of the air around her and she was in a daze. She’d ordered the chicken parm to go and had decimated over half the dish before she’d even made it back to her room.

The architecture is her second favorite part, her first of course being the food. Her love of open-concept designs is what pulls her to the plant-lined glass ceilings and open kitchen. Watching the chefs prepare her meals always transports her back to Italy, where she stayed with the De Laurentiis family during her study abroad program in high school. She nearly drools when the waiter brings out her spaghetti sugo and Sanaa’s meatballs. 

“Mmmm,” Sanaa moans, licking the sauce off of her lips. “I swear this shit gets better every time we come here,” she says between bites.

Mahari cuts her eyes over to her playfully. “At least _one of us_ gets to have balls in her mouth,” she pouts behind her glass of pinot noir.

“I’m sorry, what?” Sanaa screeches, nearly choking on the bite she’s chewing.

“Nothiiinng,” Hari sings sweetly, batting her eyelashes.

“You lying like shit, Three,” Sanaa challenges. 

With a deep, exasperated, negro spiritual sigh, Mahari regails the tale of the previous night’s events, adding extra emphasis to David and Teacher Nigga’s bullshit. Sanaa is gripping the table by the end of it, a murderous look in her eyes.

“Umm, hello?!” she questions, disbelieving. “Do I need to come to class with you on Tuesday? I’ll fight both of those niggas in front of everybody, I swear.”

“Five,” Mahari sighs gently, pressing the cool glass to her forehead. She knew Sanaa was going to make a big deal which is why she considered not telling her in the first place. The two were deathly protective of each other and would go to war over the smallest inconvenience. And Erik? Was a big inconvenience. 

“Don’t ‘Five’ me,” Sanaa hisses, leaning closer to her friend. “If you didn’t want me to react, you shouldn’t have told me. Nah, what you should’ve done was call me last night.”

“Absolutely not!” Mahari states lowly. She sets her glass on the table and steels herself. “Look, I handled it. I was just venting to you.”

Sanaa rolls her eyes in disgust before popping another juicy meatball in her mouth. “Fine. I won’t hurt them,” she says after a beat.

“Thank you,” Hari says, relieved that Sanaa was willing to drop the subject so quickly. Which was….suspiciously rare.

“I just wanna talk…”

“Cut it out!” Mahari giggles. She purses her lips as a new thought enters her head. “We never talk about what’s going on with you. I feel like a bad friend.”

“Bitch shut up,” Sanaa dismisses gently. “Yo life is waaay more eventful. Like I’m watching an episode of the young and the reckless, college edition, featuring that nigga dick.”

Mahari is thankful that she had yet to pull her fork to her lips, otherwise, she definitely would’ve choked on a noodle. Her mind briefly drifts to Erik’s last video that she may or may not have watched a few times before fapping herself to sleep the night before. She might be angry at him but…

“Issa nice dick…”

“It _truly_ is.” They laugh. “Nah but seriously nothing is new. The only thing I’m looking forward to is you coming to spend the weekend with me. Which you’re _still_ coming to do, right?”

“Yeeesss, Five,” Mahari groans. “Since y’all refuse to let me live.”

“Girl, you done seen every episode of Naurto. Twice. Boruto too! How is _that_ living?”

“Four times, but that’s not the point,” Mahari corrects.

“Reasons _why_ your ass needs to get out. I refuse to let my best friend grow cobwebs on a pussy she don’t even know how to work yet.”

It is here that Mahari chokes on the aforementioned noodle. “Are you trying to kill me today?!”

“No, but I am still down to kill _Erik_ if necessary,” Sanaa says in a saccharine voice dipped in venom. 

“Mama Mia,” Mahari huffs. 

“No but seriously,” Sanaa says, sitting her fork down, “He must really be out of sorts. I think this may be the longest time between videos I’ve seen from him.”

 _Don’t I know it_ , Hari’s inner hoe says petulantly. She’s watched damn near every video he has at her price point and she was _itching_ for more content. Not paying to unlock the locked videos in her inbox itching but itching nonetheless.

“He hasn’t posted?” Mahari tries to keep her voice light. But by the look Sanaa shoots her, she knows she’s failed.

“Bitch, you and I both know you got post notifications on.”

“No, I don’t!” Mahari squeaks indignantly. 

As if the porn god himself decides to spite her, both of the phones on the table ding with a new email from OF showing her he’s posted.

A huge smirk takes over Sanaa’s features as she reaches for her device. “Lie again, bitch.”

Mahari crosses her arms over her chest, pouting like the brat she wasn’t aware that she was. “I don’t need this. Can we please have the check?”

“Text Black Mamba and tell him to pay for us.”

Her jaw nearly hits her plate before she recovers with a frown. “ _This_ is why I don’t tell you shit.”

“You tell me everything. And don’t act like he wouldn’t pay either. That nigga is in the top 1% of OF content creators. He got it.”

“I have to go.”

“Yeah yeah I know,” Sanaa says, flagging down the waiter to indeed get their check. “The devil button calling you again, ain’t it? You bought that sucking vibrator I sent you last week, didn’t you? You dirty little hamster.”

 _Yes, but that’s none of your damn business_ , her inner hoe fusses.

“Good _BYE,_ Five!” Mahari huffs, grabbing up her bag and heading for the door.

“Where you going, bitch? _I_ drove!” Sanaa calls, jingling her keys for emphasis.

* * *

Hot. That’s the only feeling that consumes Chanel as Erik strokes just the right spot. Her moans, coupled with the way his hand grips her throat with just the right amount of pressure had her leaking in the best way.

“Eriiiik,” she keens directly in his ear as her legs lock around his waist.

“I feel it, ma. Let it go,” he growls softly as he begins jackhammering her g spot. This was it, the perfect way to let off the pressure that’s been mounting on his shoulders. He digs deeper, angling his hips in the way that always makes her cover him cream. 

She clenches her walls tightly around his shaft, effectively milking him of everything he has to offer as her orgasm rocks through her. 

His free hand shoots up to grip the pillow beside her head, “Fuuuuck, that’s it. Just like that.” Erik’s balls tighten, alerting him that he’s about to reach his end. 

_Gahdamn_ , he thinks as he clenches his teeth, his strokes losing their rhythm as he chases his release. 

“Cum for me, Mamba,” Chanel coos softly, dragging her fresh set of stiletto nails down his back. The pain met Erik’s pleasure head on and he grunts as he fills the condom to the brim.

It takes them both a second to calm after, both breathing hard and sweating as they grinned at one another. Chanel gives him a weak thumbs up and he tosses her a wink. Yeah, he definitely needed that. 

Erik moves to sit against Chanel’s headboard, swiping his hand across his forehead gently. Despite what he had just finished with Chanel, his mind couldn’t help but drift to Mahari. She still hadn’t spoken to him since Saturday night and if he were being honest with himself, he was bothered. He looks down to Chanel, who’s laying beside him with her cashmere blanket tucked under her chin. 

“I need some advice.”

Chanel opens one eye, surprised. “Oh?”

Erik nods solemnly, thinking back on earlier in the day. He’d walked into the classroom which was honestly one of the highlights of his week, happier than a pig in shit; an extra spring to his step ready to see his favorite student. She was sitting in her normal spot, the front in center of the class, her curvy, bare legs swinging under her table as she typed furiously on her phone, head down. An instant smile curved his lips as he took a few moments to gaze at her. Even with the tight expression she was wearing she was still cute as shit. Erik contemplated going over to fuck with her but thought twice when he looked at David who was actively staring a hole into the side of her face. Erik sniffed a laugh. The kid was still in the dog house it seemed. Nah, Erik would wait for her to look up at him and figure out his tactic by her reaction to seeing him. It was a sound plan. Except Mahari _never_ looked at him. At all. The entire 80 minutes they were in the hall. Her eyes stayed locked on the old doctor as he spoke, never straying over to him; even when he purposely walked directly into her line of sight. 

_Tough crowd_ , he remembers thinking to himself. She all but ran out as soon as they were dismissed. Leaving him and that other lil nigga in the dirt. 

Chanel cocks an eyebrow, growing impatient at his silence, “Umm, hello?”

“I think I fucked up,” he finally breathes out, scratching at his eyebrow nervously.

Both of Chanel’s fly open as she shoots up from her relaxed position. “Nigga did you cum in me?!” she exclaims, still holding the blanket over her bare chest.

“Girl.. No!” Erik exclaims, rolling the used condom off for emphasis. “It’s about Hari. I may have-”

“The Virgin?” Chanel interrupts, eyes going even wider. “Nigga did you cum in _her_?” 

“Chanel, _no_. Damn, let me get it out!” She was doing entirely too much.

“My bad. Continue.”

Erik lets out an exasperated sigh. “She was out on a date with one of my other students the other night…”

“Okaaaaay..” Chanel prompted when he lapsed back into silence.

“I crashed their date and in turn got into a pissing contest with the nigga she was with.”

“You need yo grown ass beat!” Chanel says, readjusting the bonnet that he had just knocked askew. “Now, didn’t I specifically tell you to stay away from that girl? I could’ve sworn that’s exactly what I said.“

“But C-”

“But nothing, Erik!” Chanel screeches making Erik cover his ears. “You’re not ready to settle down again, especially after Xo. So why in the hale would you bring her into your shit?! Especially since you said, and I quote, ‘i DoN’t FuCk My StUdEnTs.’”

“I know what I said,” Erik pouts, getting out the bed to pull up his boxers.

“So what, are you going back on your own word?” Chanel accuses, eyeing him.

Erik sighed deeply before sitting back on the bed, “Like I told Chauncey, it wasn’t like that. And I _haven’t_ fucked her.”

“That’s not the point, jackass. She’s _INNOCENT_!”

Erik covers his ears _again_ , “Man, why you yelling?”

“Because that seems like the only way to get through the vibranium layer of ya skull. You’re gonna end up hurting her the exact same way Xolani hurt you,” Chanel ignored the very pointed way Erik was looking at her at the second mention of his ex’s name, “and I’m not about to sit idly by and let you do it.”

“You don’t know what the fuck me and Xo had going on, so don’t you dare bring her into this!” Erik glowers, turning to face the cocoa goddess behind him.

She blinks at his tone a few times before leaning forward, “Take the damn caps lock out of your fucking voice, nigga!” Erik knew she was really upset because she began clapping in his face for emphasis. “You asked _me_ for advice. You could’ve left me in freshly fucked oblivion.”

Erik pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re right. My fault for coming at you like that.”

Sighing, Chanel sits back, knowing she too was out of order. “You good. I’ll overlook it because you emotional and shit. But don’t you dare take that tone with me again.”

“That’s fair, but at the same time, don’t go throwing my ex’s name in my face like you know the whole situation. That wasn’t cool either.”

“You’re right, and I apologize.”

“Accepted,” Erik said, happy the two of them could be adults about this. “But to further clarify, I haven’t done shit to this girl. Sexually anyway.” 

“I think you crashing her date with someone is way worse, don’t you think?” 

“Is it?” Erik squeaked, shrugging his shoulders comically with the wink of one eye. “I just thought the shit would be funny. The nigga she was with is a cornball anyway. Not worth her time.”

Chanel blinks again, silently wondering if this was the same nigga that had been dicking her down on a consistent basis for the last year and a half. Was this nigga getting soft? She grabs his hand, pulling him to sit closer to her as she stared into his eyes. Erik almost recoils at the intensity.

“I’ll ask you this and then we can drop the whole thing, if you want,” she starts, holding his gaze. Gentling her voice to not scare him too much. “Why does it bother you so much? You’re a graduate assistant and part time porn star who’s not ready for another serious relationship.”

“I’m not a porn star,” Erik corrects her with a smirk.

“You’re right,” Chanel nods with a smirk. “You’re a prostitute… Ya whore,” she giggles. 

“But you still ain’t answer my question. Why did it bother you?”

Seconds trickle back as Erik thinks about this for the second time in a calendar week. It was hard on his psyche to be completely honest. Every time he seems to get closer, a tightness would bloom in his chest, near his heart. He reached up to rub at the area, trying to physically chase away the sensation before he looked back at his friend.

“To be honest, I don’t know. I’ve been trying to figure it out since the other night.”

“I’ll tell you what I think,” Chanel states confidently. “I think you like her a lot more than you’re letting yourself believe and you owe them both an apology..”

Erik scoffs lightly, removing his hand from her soft grasp. Needing to be back on his bullshit. This being honest and exploring feelings shit was for the birds.“Only thing I like is pussy. Speaking of…”

“Nigga again?” she groans, allowing Erik to guide her body until she’s positioned on all fours, a deep arch in her back. Looking back at him as he pulls out another condom from god knows where.

“What? Like you got somewhere to be,” he chuckles darkly as he guides himself back into her entrance. 

_Yeah, that’s more like it._

* * *

Thursday was absolutely no better. In fact, it was way worse. After his conversation with Chanel, Erik knew it truly was time to try to corner little Khamisi into talking to him. He had devised a plan to show up to class a few minutes earlier than he normally would and perch himself right next to the door, ready to pull her gently outside and down the main hall, away from prying eyes and ears. Mainly David’s. It seemed like Bast herself had whispered his plans into Mahari’s ears as the girl showed up a full ten minutes after class had begun. Throwing Dr. Watson an apologetic smile as she slid into the seat that bitchass nigga had saved for her. The only thing that gave him any semblance of joy was the annoyed eye roll she offered at his smile. 

After that, it was a repeat of Tuesday, with Mahari imitating a Tasmanian devil the second the old man croaked out his “class dismissed.” Erik’s jaw had ticked slightly, fury entering his gaze when Mariah yelled out: 

“She don’t fuck with yoooouuuuuuuuu!”

“Nigga, fuck you!” he seethed before snatching his bag up and stomping out. 

N’Jobu had just ended a follow-up call with his last patient when California Love by Tupac started playing before he could even put down the phone. He smiled gently, swiping over and sitting back in his home office chair.

The look on his son’s face worried him. “What’s the matter, son? You look genuinely nettled.”

“I fucked up, pops,” Erik states without preamble.

“What did you do? Are you in trouble?” N’Jobu’s tone caused Ava to raise from her comfortable position in the chaise, Mama Bear mode activated.

“No, no. It’s nothing like that,” Erik dismisses with a wave of his hand though his face doesn’t change. The tightness still evident on his brow 

“So then what’s the matter, my precious little cherub?” Ava’s sweet voice sings from the other end of the line.

 _Fuck_ , Erik thinks to himself. _She gone kill my black ass_ , he sighs deeply and pinches his nose under his glasses.

“Here’s the Spark Notes version,” he says as he walks to his car. “I was out with Chauncey and one of our friends. Two of my students came in and were on a date and I kinda sorta crashed it.”

“Why?” N’Jobu questions.

“I really don’t know,” Erik lies. He was more than enough self aware now to at least admit that to _himself_. His parents were another thing entirely.

“I call bullshit,” Ava says, taking the phone from her husband.

Erik shakes his head. Why had he even tried it with her there? “Because the nigga wasn’t worth her time, ma,” he finally admits.

Ava raised a brow and pinned her son with a look, “And who are _you_ to make that decision?”

Erik rolls his eyes, kissing his teeth, “Maaaan.”

“I’m afraid I have to agree with your mother, son.”

_This some bullshit…_

“I think the two people on the phone know I was raised to treat a woman right. _And_ spot when that isn’t happening, no?” They were really trying to turn this around on him like they aint raise him to be this way. Okay…so they weren’t as rude or crass as he was but that wasn’t the ghatdamn point. 

“I think you’re full of shit like your father,” Ava interjects, causing N’Jobu to lean back with one hand on his chest.

“Me?!” he said incredulously, even with the smile on his face as he eye’d as his wife. 

“Yes!” Both Ava and Erik answer in unison. N’Jobu throws his hands in the air with a chuckle.

“That boy is the fruit of your loins, my love and the apple _did not_ fall far from the tree,” Ava continues.

“At least it was a nice tree,” N’Jobu smirks.

“Oh _yes_. The longest and thickest in the grove.”

“And hardest. Do not forget that part,” N’Jobu purrs, kissing her neck with a tiny growl. Ava broke out in giggles.

Erik rolls his eyes back in his skull as he leans against his car he’s just been standing next to. “You know what.. BYE!” 

“Boy don’t you hang up on your parents!” Ava admonishes. “You called _us_. Remember?”

“For _adviiiiiceeeee,_ ” Erik emphasizes with a few taps against his car. “You niggas being nasty. The only sibling I signed up for was Chauncey and I didn’t even sign up for him, if I’m being honest.”

Ava releases a few more chuckles before looking back at her son, “I think that at the very least, you owe them both an apology. If this date went as badly as I think it did, and I know you, so I’m sure it was bad, they deserve that much.”

“An _apology_?!” Why, he had _never_. 

“Please remember that you called us for this,” N’Jobu parrots his wife’s words from seconds before with a stern shake of his head. “And that we raised you to be the bigger person, especially when you’re wrong.”

“Ugh, man this some _bullshit_ ,” Erik kicks the air. 

“Excuse you?” Ava quips.

“Aight man,” Erik sighs, defeated. Deep in his cold, black heart, he knew this was the right thing to do. Didn’t mean he wanted to do the shit. “I’ll say sorry or whatever.”

 _To Mahari_ , he thinks. Fuck that other bitch. 

“With _feeling_ , N’Jadaka.”

“I’ve been called that so many times this week,” Erik mutters, getting into his car.

“Then get some act right. Love you son.”

“Love y’all too,” he pouts as the vehicle roars to life. They were right. They all were, and he knew it. He was willing to apologize, but now the question was how in the hell would he get Hari to listen?

 _Diamonds are a girl’s best friend_ , Chanel’s voice echoes in the recesses of his mind. 

His thick lips bunch up underneath his mustache as he contemplates the phrase. Hari didn’t seem like the flashy type. And, the last person he’d bought diamonds for had skipped off to New York to pursue her _dreams_. He rolled his eyes to himself and how annoyed he still got when thinking of Xo before refocusing his mind. Erik could do jewelry, but what would Mahari even like? 

A quick memory of her face when he’d broken that piece of shit David had called a bracelet, flitted through his mind and he immediately knew what to get. Pulling off, he headed straight to his jewelry before traffic could get any crazier than it probably already was. Mahari would love the design he had in mind and that nigga would be salty. It was a win-win in his book.

_—————————————-_

“Are you _ever_ going to be done, Naa?” Mahari questions in a bored voice as hangs upside down on her best friend’s bed, gazing at herself in the mirror. That was pointing directly at her bed, the freak nasty hoe. 

“Can you give me a second?” Sanaa calls from inside her closet. “You came over here looking like a snack, hors devours, and finely plated dessert, I’m tryna match ya fly.”

Giggling in this position made Mahari’s head even lighter than it already was so she rolled her body up until into a sitting position. Sanaa had a point. [Mahari doesn’t know what exactly came over her when she slipped on the gold, long-sleeved wrap top that accentuated her cleavage perfectly, or the distressed jeans that had majority of her left thigh out, but she was feeling herself.](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fi.pinimg.com%2F564x%2F48%2Ff4%2Fac%2F48f4acd8d4e23b4c552a35b7a832f436.jpg&t=N2ZiODBjNTI5ZGRkYjZjYzJiODE4NGFmNjRhZWY2NTI4NWVkOTU3NCxQbUc4bFFiMg%3D%3D&b=t%3AhduukGkrPWWm5xXH6vMQHA&p=https%3A%2F%2Fprincessstevens.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F633091687674183680%2Fyour-onlyfan-6&m=0&ts=1603763592) She even wore the chunky invisible heels she bought on a whim to pull the piece together. 

Maybe it was the fact that it was the weekend, or that Sanaa had promised to make up for the horrible date she’d had this time last week. It may have also been all the attention she had received from two of her formerly favorite fuck heads that week. Either way, she was feeling sexy and wanted to show the world her new attitude while it lasted. 

“Okaaaay, but you look good all the fuckin time,” Hari called back as she fluffed up her eyelashes. “I’m just tryna be like you.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Ms. Owens,” Sanaa giggles as she steps out of her closet looking like the baddie she was.[ The orange, long sleeve fishnet top she’s wearing pops perfectly in her skin as it dips down into her black overall dress. Oval shaped Ray Bans are perched at the end of her nose and the neon orange, platform boots perfectly pull the outfit together](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fi.pinimg.com%2F564x%2F8e%2F7e%2Fbf%2F8e7ebf05b9e21be3cf22073e4ec226ab.jpg&t=NTc4NmViNGY1YmI3MmU2YjlkYjRkZmNiMTQ5ODQ0OTRhM2MzZjFmYixQbUc4bFFiMg%3D%3D&b=t%3AhduukGkrPWWm5xXH6vMQHA&p=https%3A%2F%2Fprincessstevens.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F633091687674183680%2Fyour-onlyfan-6&m=0&ts=1603763592). Sanaa was such a flex. 

“Well gaaaaaaaaaaaaahdamn,” Mahari broadcasts while fanning herself. She hops up, swaggering over towards her bestie, a dip in her walk like a mopheaded nigga she knows. “You got a man? Can he fight?”

“Goodnight, Mrs. Teacher Nigga,” Sanaa laughs, causing Mahari to drop the entire act.

“Why you bring him up?” Mahari pouts.

“Because you looked and sounded just like him just now. You’ll be okay once you get some ice cream,” she tells her with a concerned pat of her hand.

“I swear if I can make it through the weekend without seeing him or David, I _may_ consider acknowledging their existence again.”

“Or don’t,” Sanaa suggests, as she tosses her things into her bag and pulls it over her shoulder. “Peasants acknowledge a queen, not the other way around.”

“ _Bitch_ , I love you.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Sanaa winks as they make their way down to her blue Tesla 3. “Let’s go make the biggest fucking sundae this side of the Mississipi.”

“Yes’m!” Mahari laughs as they enter the car. This date was well deserved. Her face set into a serious expression as she looked out the window, seemingly talking to the universe itself. “I refuse to let _anything_ ruin this day.”

“Can’t nothing ruin ice cream, sister.”

* * *

Friday night. The day Erik had secretly been waiting for all week. As much as the pair annoyed him, he enjoyed spending time with Chauncey and Dinisha. And the way the last six days were going, he knew that they were just the reprieve he needed. Chauncey had greeted him with an expression that clued Erik into the fact that he wanted an update on what had transpired over the week. Erik, however, wasn’t ready to touch on such a sore topic. Chauncey had blessedly let it go.

Now, the trio were currently discussing Dinisha’s choice of top, the purple tone complimenting her skin perfectly. A perfect distraction from his nagging thoughts. 

“You don’t even know her name,” Erik teases, breaking off a piece of his waffle cone to dip into the mess that was previously his mint and brownie sundae.

“You right, I don’t,” Dinisha giggles, shaking her bust beneath the cotton, only _slightly_ peeved when Erik didn’t look down… “But this shirt cute and it makes me look good, so that’s all that matters.” 

It was no secret that Dinisha knew nothing about anime, but Erik did and she was determined to make him hers by any means necessary. _Even if it meant pretending to be interested in Japanese cartoons._

“You’re such a girl,” Chauncey chuckles, shooting a glance to Erik as Sanaa and Mahari walk into the parlor. His face lights up with dark delight. Looks like he’d get his answers one way or another. 

Meanwhile, Hari pulls a face when she sees the Alphabet Gang sitting in a corner booth of her favorite confectionary. This could not be happening to her. 

Turning to Sanaa, she aggressively whispers through clenched teeth, “I thought you said _nothing_ could ruin ice cream!”

“Nigga if you don’t relax ya damn _jaw_! Like I knew these niggas were gonna be in here,” Sanaa shrugs.

“At this point, I feel like these niggas stalking me,” Hari fusses, tempted to turn and leave before she can be spotted by mophead. Sanaa grabs her arm, sensing her struggle.

“Hey, this ain’t about them,” she tells her just as gently as she was guiding her forward. “You’re here to have fun with your best friend. We can speak and go on by our business.”

Hari agrees with a nod, following Sanaa over to cordially speak. Might as well get the shit out the way now.

“Hey y’all,” Hari waves. “This is my best friend, Sanaa. Naa, this is Chauncey and Dinisha,” she introduces, purposely ignoring the fine ass, mophead nigga staring a hole into her face. If she weren’t still mad at him, she would’ve allowed her body to react to the way his tongue swiped across his bottom grill. Her outfit was officially a success.

“I’ve seen her around campus,” Dinisha says with a nod. “Her artwork is bomb,” she smiles.

“Thanks,” Sanaa smiles.

Chauncey grins at Mahari’s omission, offering his hand to Sanaa to shake. 

“Nice to meet you, Sanaa. Mahari, can I speak with you for a second?” 

“Sure,” she says, following Chauncey away from the table. “I’ll be right back, Naa,” Mahari offers.

“Five minutes, Three,” Sanaa fusses slightly. “I’ll grab us a table.”

Erik scoffs as the pair walk towards the ice cream bar. He could deal with Hari dissing him, but Chauncey? Nah. That was out of line and he wouldn’t stand for the disrespect.

“Guess I’m invisible then,” he says with an eye roll.

“You ruined her date, E,” Dinisha explains. “I wouldn’t wanna talk to yo black ass either.”

“Oh?” Sanaa questions as if she didn’t know the story. She sits down in Chauncey’s vacant seat, placing her head in her hands as she looks directly at Mamba. She wasn’t ready to call him Erik. “Tell me _more_.”

When the pair are in front of the bar, Chauncey turns to look down at Hari.

“Listen, I want to apologize for my part on Saturday.” he says solemnly. “What started out as harmless fun turned immature and cruel before I even noticed. I don’t want that one incident to ruin our friendship.”

Mahari smiled up at his sincere expression as he spoke, knowing he meant every word. And she liked him even more. “I accept your apology, Chauncey. It’s your mophead friend that’s a jackass.”

“You are correct, but I’m not responsible for him,” Chauncey laughed before turning towards the bar. “Wanna taste something?” he smirks, playfully wiggling his eyebrows the way Erik does when he’s up to something.

“Sure,” Hari shrugs while Chauncey pulls together the concoction. She eyes him as he drizzles Ghirardelli chocolate over her ice cream and brownie concoction before handing it to her. Erik’s dick twitches from across the room as she watches the nearly orgasmic expression at her first taste.

 _This nigga doing this shit on purpose_ , he fumes as he subtly adjusts himself under the table. His eyes sliding back to Dinisha who was talking about….something?

“Mmmm,” Mahari moans around her second mouthful of sinful heaven. “It’s like the perfect brownie and cookie _orgy_. What is this?”

“Oh, that’s my specialty. I call it the Black Mamba,” Chauncey smirks again as he notices Erik has finally abandons Dinisha with what was probably some half assed excuse.

Hari chokes on a piece of oreo, not expecting him to say those exact words as the man behind the name approaches. She beats against her chest gently as she puts her bowl down, eyes watering.

Chauncey’s eyes buck gently in his skull as he puts two and two together. “Oh shit,” he mumbles to himself before lightly patting her back. “What’s wrong Hari?”

“N-Nothing,” she coughs. “I-I just don’t like snakes,” she says as Erik walks up.

_She didn’t? Well, that sucked for his best friend._

“Hari, can we talk?” Erik asks, stepping directly in front of Chauncey. If that nigga can ignore him, he could do it too. 

“No,” she says, slamming her bowl down on the table before storming away. She had promised herself that she wouldn’t let anything ruin her day and she absolutely meant that shit. She was breezing through the parlor quickly, eyes solely on the table that Sanaa had just risen from. She would have made it too, had it not been for the fuck face that was apparently hot on her tail.

Erik gently grabs Hari’s elbow, pivoting them both as he leads her past where Sanaa was gaping like a fish to outside while she fusses the whole time but follows him anyway. Like his grip had given her any choice.

“Unhand me heathen!” Mahari cries as they make it out the front doors. She twists gently away from him, happy when the move makes him dislodge her grip. 

“Oh now you wanna act like Khaleesi for real? Okay, Mahari,” he chuckles and turns towards her. She’s gorgeous but furious. Her heaving chest nearly spilling out of her top, mouth pursed in away that makes him want to suckle. 

_Mine_ , the word flashes through his head before he can stop it. 

“I know damn well,” Sanaa fusses as she presses her entire face and body to the glass of the building, watching them. 

Chauncey chuckles, following the action next to her. He knew damn well too. Dinisha, however, remained seated at the previously occupied table, saltier than the sea salt topping on her ice cream. Here she was serving up sex on a platter, yet Erik was still hung up on _her_. It made her blood boil.

Before Erik can speak, he spots the pair in the window, shaking his head before walking further down the sidewalk. He was determined to say his peace without any disruption from either of their best friends.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t thump you in your thick ass trachea,” Hari seethes when she rips her arm away from him again. She nearly chuckles when Erik’s eyebrows meet his hairline. 

“Because that’s assault.”

That was…hell that was correct. And she would be damned if she went to jail over a nigga. A fine one but a nigga still. 

“Fair point well made,” she mutters, crossing her arms. 

_Lettuce see what the slim jim nigga had to say._

“You’ve been avoiding me all week,” he accused which…wasn’t what he’d meant to say.

Mahari glances at her nails, attempting to have an air of nonchalance that was only belied by the rueful twist to her full lips. “That’s typically what a person does when they don’t want to talk. You look like the type to ghost people, shouldn’t you know?”

 _Well damn_ , he muses silently before stepping closer to her; giving her a look only NBA Youngboy could mimic. 

“You right, but that ain’t the point.”

It has its desired effect as Hari tucks her chin to gaze up at him through her lashes. The thought that she was probably extremely submissive in bed had just entered his mind when her demeanor does a complete 180 and she turns to walk away.

 _Shit. Okay, fuck_ , Erik sighs in his mind as he reaches out to grab her elbow gently again, turning her back to face him. Damn she was stubborn when she wanted to be.

“Mahari seriously, I wanna apologize.” His sincere tone makes her stop in her tracks and the look in his eyes almost causes her to cave.. Almost.

“Apologize for what exactly, Erik?” she asks, popping her hip as her neck enters swivel territory. She ticks off on her fingers, “Dropping in on my date? Being rude? Calling David cheap? Breaking my belongings? Insinuating that you and I are fucking? Ruining my image? Which part, hm?” Her voice’s octave seems to rise at the same rate as his eyebrows. Lil mama is _furious_. “First, you fucking gave me your ass to kiss in class then you wanna act like I fucking _belong_ to you or something. Causing a damn scene, embarrassing me, ruining my friendship and my whole day. _So again, what are you sorry about, Erik_?”

Erik blinks a few times during the silence that follows her reading. Mind reeling on how to get himself out of this mess.

“Well when you say it like _that_ , it does sound pretty bad,” he mutters.

“Bitch,” Mahari curses before she can stop herself. The sinister look that flashes across his face is not lost on her before his original mask resurfaces.

“First of all,” he starts as he looks down the street both ways, “who is Bitch and where are they? My name is Teacher Nigga,” he jokes, only he is the only one to find it amusing.

“No, your name is asshole and I’m done talking to you,” Mahari stomps off in her chunky heels, ass swaying enticingly. Which Erik should not be paying attention to but he was horny dammit. He hasn’t had a woman read him for filth since Xo and it had his blood singing. 

“Did she just call him a bitch?” Chauncey chuckles, pressing his face further into the glass.

“How you hear that? This glass thick as hell,” Sanaa asks.

“I read her lips _and_ I use that word frequently so I know what it looks like,” he announces proudly.

 _Oh yeah, both of these niggas annoying as shit,_ Naa muses with a silent chuckle.

Erik was destined to be a track star tonight because here he was running after Hari, yet again.

“Mahari, wait. You’re right, I was a jerk for ruining your date and I feel terrible for breaking your bracelet. Please forgive me,” he says, reaching into his pocket to retrieve a small black and gold box.

Curiosity gets the best of her as soon as he slips the box into her palm much to her chagrin. She was a sucker for presents. How did the bastard know she was a sucker for presents? 

“What’s this?” she questions with a lick of her lips.

“Open it and find out,” Erik smirks and stuffs his hands in his pockets. 

Hari forces herself to open the box slowly, just in case this was some sort of trick. She half expected to be greeted by a golden condom because the nigga looks like he apologizes in dick. To her delight, she finds a new bracelet with all the Jiji charms her Miyazaki loving heart can handle. A small smile takes over her face as she touches the cool metal, the craftsmanship immaculate. What was it made of?

Out of the corner of her eye all she can see is white and gold teeth. The nigga was cheesing so big his face had to hurt. 

“Don’t think just because I’m smiling that you’re off the hook,” she attempts to sass, “Annoying ass Teacher Nigga.”

“Aye, there’s my girl,” Erik laughs as he tweaks the end of her cute nose. “I’ll take the smile and being on the hook. I deserve it.”

_His girl? That was a new development._

Mahari chews her glossy lip for a moment before asking the question that’s been rolling around in her mind for awhile. 

“What even was that?” she starts, looking up at him with serious eyes. “You do that with all the students you see on a date or am I special?” 

She was definitely a special girl but Erik honestly didn’t know why. He’d spent the better portion of the last 24 hours attempting to pinpoint exactly what it was about Mahari Khamisi Owens that had such a hold over him. Was it the way her eyes lit up when she smiled, the way she furrowed her brows when she was confused or concentrating really hard? The intellect she showed in class? Or the fact that his usual tactics didn’t seem to work on her? Hell, he even considered the fact that she was a virgin to be part of the thrill. The idea that she was untouched excited him in a way that lowkey made him worry. 

_Mine_ , his psyche growled again.

But the problem was that none of that seemed to be the reasoning behind his growing infatuation with his favorite student. He genuinely didn’t know how to answer this question. But she was looking at him so expectantly he had to say something….

“I mean,” he starts before he’s cut off by an aggressive feminine voice.

“Ummm, excuse me!” Sanaa calls, making them turn their heads towards the sound.

They are met by Chauncey, Dinisha, and Sanaa all leaning out of the door to the bar like a nigga totem pole.

“We are on a date, mophead,” Sanna says with a sassy roll of her neck. “And my name is not David.”

“Oop,” Chauncey teases.

 _Saved by the bestie_ , Erik thinks before smiling down at Hari. “I don’t want no more smoke. I been getting chewed out all week.”

“You probably deserved it,” she giggles teasingly.

Erik pokes her side as they walk back to the entrance of the parlor, “Shuddup.”

“You just wanted to touch me,” she tells him. 

“Mind your business, Khaleesi. You better get back over there to Mama Sanaa before you get a whooping,” he jokes.

Heat suddenly fills her face and Erik wonders if he’s said something wrong. Mahari merely nods, parting ways with him to enjoy the rest of her night with Sanna.

Erik wonders what the sudden change was as he walks back over to his table. 

_Maybe she’s got a spanking kink_ , he thinks and his dick gives him another telling throb. That’d be… _something_.

Back at the Alphabet Gang’s table, Erik walks back over to find Chauncey and Dinisha in their original seats. He raises an eyebrow at the way her arms are folded and her knee is bouncing under the table. What was up her ass now?

“What’s wrong with you?” Chauncey asks, mimicking Erik’s expression. 

Dinisha simply ignores him, her green gaze pinned on Erik, “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“You and Hari?”

“Me apologizing to a friend,” Erik states simply as he tosses his black card down on the waiting bill. “Not that I care but, is there a problem?”

“A friend?” she snarls, nearly spitting the word. “So what are we then?”

Erik opens his mouth, but before he can answer, Chauncey sings “We. Are. Farmers! Bum ba dum ba bum bum bum!”

Erik does a spit take, trying his hardest not to cackle in her face.

“You niggas _disgust_ me,” she sneers turning her nose towards the heavens. 

“For real, girl? What we be sayin?” Chauncey smirks, batting his eyelashes while leaning on her arm.

“What the fuck ever. I’ll talk to y’all later.” Dinisha snatches up her bag, storming past Sanaa and Hari’s booth as she makes her dramatic exit.

“Oop, looks like your tethered is upset,” Sanaa smirks when she stalks by their table.

“Bye, Peaches!” Chauncey calls out just as she hits the door, making both Mahari and Sanaa laugh. 

“I like Chauncey,” Sanaa tells Mahari. “Chauncey can stay.”

Hari locks eyes with Erik, nodding her head towards the door to which Erik only bites his lip and shrugs. 

_Welp, looks like the bastard ruined yet another night._ Too bad Mahari didn’t care.

* * *

Mahari’s _Chill Anime Beats_ playlist blares through Sanaa’s bluetooth speaker as she begins her nighttime skincare routine. She smiles to herself while humming along to 2:59 by chief. Despite all that transpired hours before, she couldn’t help the feeling she got whenever she looked down at the charms that accent her wrist. It was lighter than she originally thought, the metal delicately twinkling in her ears as she sweeps her rose essence across her cheeks and forehead. 

_Ole fine ass, sweet ass, big dick ass nigga._

Sanaa cuts her eyes to Mahari, her gaze going directly to the bracelet as Hari shimmies into her Sailor Moon pajamas.

“Bitch ya face bout shiny as hell,” she jokes. “And you adding _more_ oils to it?”

Hari playfully looks over one shoulder, “Now you _know_ rotisserie chicken is my aesthetic.” They share a laugh as Mahari turns out the light and climbs into bed. 

“Ummm, what’s that?” she says, pointing to the bracelet on her arm.

“Oh, this?” Mahari asks, raising her arm to give Sanaa a better look. “Erik gave it to me when we were outside of The Yard.”

“Oop! My bitch getting jewelry! Let me see!” Sanaa requests, pulling her arm over to her. She ran her fingers over the links, “What kind of metal is this?”

“I don’t know but it’s light as hell. I forgot I was even wearing it.”

“I see,” Sanaa whispers, giving her arm back. “I also see that you forgave that nigga way easier that you should have. Have I taught you nothing?”

Hari reaches over to grab the box from her bag and chucks it at Sanaa’s head. “He apologized, okay? That’s more than I thought he was capable of. And it seemed genuine.”

“Uh huh. You was just caught up in his pretty ass face, wasn’t you?” 

_Okaaaaaaaaaaaay?Aaaaaaaand?_ Mahari thinks as she watches Sanaa open the box. And freeze. 

“ _Ooooh_ , bitch,” she whispers, holding it closer to her face.

Mahari scrambles over, pushing her face in front of Sanaa’s to figure out what she missed. “What, what is it?”

“This _must_ be the bat signal for dick.” 

“Huh?”

Saana lifts the box slowly to the light, tilting it from side to side to illuminate it more. On the inside of the velvet covered top is a matte snake, nearly invisible if you weren’t looking for it. 

“Holy shit,” Hari gasps, taking the box away from her gently to inspect for herself. Her first alarming thought is that it would make a dope tattoo… Her second thought was -

“You ready to be the next powerpuff girl, sis?”

_—————————————-_

Back at his condo, Erik is stretched out naked across his king bed, iPad Pro in hand. SInce the crisis with Mahari had been averted, he was now free to think about a more _pressing_ matter.. Like what scene he was going to do next. It had been way too long since he’d added to his profile. While he definitely didn’t _need_ the money, having a steady source of income had grown on him. Not to mention he had to feed his inner kink.

 _I wonder if she would be down to do a scene_ , he muses, rubbing a hand lower on his abdomen before dismissing the thought. 

“Baby steps,” he mutters to himself. Even still, his overactive mind immediately conjures up an image he fought earlier. Mahari, bent over his bed with her arms tied behind her awaiting punishment. He bit his lip to keep the low groan at bay; trying not to wonder how many licks it would take for her to start begging. His hand had just slipped a little lower when his iPad dings with an incoming message from Chauncey.

_Bro: 😈😈😈😈😈_

Aaaand his body was immediately flaccid. Erik rolls his eyes, opening the message to type of his own. 

**_mAmBa: Nigga what?_ **

_Bro: I think Mahari knows…_

**_mAmBa: Knows what?_ **

Erik could nearly _feel_ Chauncey from wherever he was.

_Bro: About the snake in yo draws. 😈😏😝_

Erik reads the message at least ten times, silently hoping the wording would change. The sweatiness of his hands cause him to lose his grip on the iPad, sending it crashing down on his face.

“Ah, shit!”

He wasn’t sure which deity he’d pissed off, but this had truly been a terrible horrible no good very bad week.


End file.
